


The Dancer

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU: Different First Meeting, Bit of Fluff As Well, Confusion, Dancing, Drunk Sherlock, Explicit Sexual Content, First Date, Girls Night Out, Jealousy, M/M, Obsession, Strip Bar, Stripping, the universe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 15:59:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4967206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finds himself dancing to make money for med school. Sherlock finds himself watching him. And then he finds himself unable to stop thinking about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Birthday Party

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

John looked at himself in the mirror. He was wearing fireman's overalls with no shirt underneath, tear-away briefs, and a thong with just a big enough triangle to hold his parts in. He was still unable to believe that he was stripping. At first he thought the suggestion was ridiculous -- Greg was always coming up with some wild way to make extra money. And then he showed John what he made in one night alone, and John was convinced. Medical school wasn't cheap, and it turns out neither was stripping. 

The first night was the worst performance of the night -- he was nervous and uncomfortable. Now he embraced it. He had a nice body from playing rugby and his training to join the army. Women would scream and blow him kisses and make vulgar comments, but they would give him money and that was what he focused on. 

His favourite trick was focusing his attention on any man in the audience. At first he thought that the women would be upset, but it sent them into a sort of wild frenzy that almost doubled the money in his underwear elastic. They seemed to understand that most dancers were gay anyway, so John embraced that as well. He was actually bisexual, but they didn't need to know all of that. Flirting with a woman in the audience got him extra money from that woman. Flirting with men got him extra money from everyone. 

"You're up, John."

John turned and nodded to the manager before grabbing the fake axe and heading to the curtain. The last dancer was finishing up, and John closed him eyes to take a moment to prepare. This one was going to drive them wild. 

Why Sherlock had agreed to come to this party was still unclear to him as was Molly's definition of the word "party." It was her birthday and she had guilt tripped him into coming to what she'd called "a small get together" with people "he might find interesting." This turned out to be a lie of colossal dimensions. He was the only man in a group of a dozen woman, and the whole night had been nothing more than a pub crawl. He'd wanted to leave after the first drink, but Molly had clung to him, not letting him out of her sight, and even though he'd been tempted at least sixty times, he could not bring himself to be mean to Molly on her birthday. Nothing about this night -- not the activities, not the people -- had been interesting in the slightest.

He had kept drinking, though, and that seemed to make it all a little easier. They were now tumbling into a new bar, one that was sufficiently dark (good) but one which had a stage (confusing). One of Molly's friends brought a tray full of drinks to the table, each accompanied by a small blue shot. He was pretty sure Molly had said the name Josie at some point, but he found it hard to distinguish between the pretty but boring women so he'd decided they all were named Josie. Josie who brought the drinks proposed a toast to Molly, they all downed the shots and then turned towards the stage.

"What's going to happen?" Sherlock asked, leaning over to Molly and slurring into her ear.

"You'll see," she laughed. Then she put her hand on his and said, "Are you having fun?" She glanced at the table. "I think Josie fancies you."  
  
Sherlock looked over at the women who all seemed to be looking at him until he realised they were looking past him at the stage.

"I don't know," he mumbled even though he couldn't quite remember what question he was supposed to be answering. "It's late, isn't it?"

"Don't be such a baby," Molly said, dropping his hand and turning her chair a bit to face the stage. The lights on the stage suddenly went out, and Sherlock considered making a quick dash for the door. Instead he closed his eyes, not entirely sure what was going to happen next.

John opened his eyes when they made the announcement, some nonsense about things getting too hot and that everyone possibly getting in trouble with the fire marshal. And then the music started and John sauntered out, the axe over his shoulder as he made his way to the middle of the stage. Everyone was already going crazy, notes flying onto the stage. He looked around and saw his target, a rather handsome man at a table full of women right near the front. He squatted down and held the axe out to him. "Mind holding this for me?" he asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the wide ones staring back at him. 

Sherlock was watching the stage, and it took much longer than it should for him to figure out what was happening. He'd glanced at Molly and the Josies, but they were all mesmerised and entirely unaware of his discomfort. Then the dancer was moving towards Sherlock, bending down and giving him the axe. Sherlock took it because he had no idea what else to do. Now it felt like every woman in the place was looking at him, or rather looking at the dancer talking to him. His face was flushed and he just sat there stupidly, watching the man. 

John smiled and stood again, turning his back to the crowd and starting to move his hips, taking off one strap on the overalls and letting it fall over his shoulder. More screaming. And then the other strap. More screaming. He turned around and moved into body rolls, his chest and abs moving with the music as his hands gripped the top of the overalls at his waist. He looked around the crowd with a smirk, counted to three in his head, and tore them off. Money was flying all over the stage and John moved to get it, now gyrating his groin in the tight boxer briefs. He squatted in front of the man with his axe, then jumped down to stand in front of him. "Hello again," he smiled, and his whole table shoved notes into his briefs. 

John took the axe and used the 'blade' end to open the man's legs a bit, letting the axe fall down onto his chair. With a wide grin around the room he started stroking the handle, bending his body in half before rolling up and thrusting his groin against the handle. He flipped the axe onto his shoulder and winked. "Thanks," he said. He jumped onto the stage again and swung the axe between his legs, pulling it up and stroking it again, still rolling his hips against it. 

"Take it off!" 

John looked around the room but had no way of knowing who shouted it. It didn't matter. He swung the axe down and tossed it behind him, sticking his thumbs into the elastic. He moved them around the elastic, pretending to pull them down over and over, teasing them. John looked at the man with the dark hair and smiled. "Should I do it?"

Sherlock's eyes were glued to the man. It was all so horrible -- why was this guy doing it? Why were the women encouraging him to? And worse yet, why was Sherlock here to witness it? Yet he couldn't stop watching him, and when the fireman came back over, Sherlock was still just staring stupidly. Molly nudged his arm, but he didn't even notice. He just watched the man, looking quickly at the axe, and then back at the man. And then the dancer asked him a question.

Sherlock didn't know what to do. He heard shouts from the Josies, possibly even Molly was shrieking now, but in some ways, Sherlock felt it was only him in the dancer in the room. He looked up at his face -- it was handsome and looking back at Sherlock who now suddenly realised he was getting an erection, which made him feel a bit ashamed, but which also secured the fact that he couldn't look away. He knew where they were, why they were here, and what the dancer was about to do. He hadn't wanted to be a part of any of it, but now he was. He shook his head no at the dancer, knowing that it didn't make a bit of a difference. He tried to shift in his seat a bit, to not give anything away to the women or to the dancer.

"No?" John asked, pouting dramatically. "He doesn't want me to take it off," he told the crowd. The women went wild. John couldn't tell what they were saying with everyone shouting like that. He thumbed the elastic of his pants and looked back at the man. "Sorry. Majority rules," he smiled. He turned and shimmied them down slowly, exposing his arse first, so it looked like he wasn't wearing anything at all. He bent all the way down to remove them, then turned, tossing them behind him. He continued dancing, walking up and down the stage to take the last of the money. The song ended and John bowed, waving and smiling at everyone, and then specifically to his unwilling helper. He left the stage and let his smile drop. He looked at the pile of notes in his hands and reminded himself that that's what it was all for. 

"I am going to steal that guy-flirting," Greg said, getting ready for his own dance. "They love that!"

John smiled. "Don't use the dark haired man in the front, I think he had more than enough for one night," he said. John hoped they stuck around for a bit so he could go and talk to him properly, apologise if he had caused any discomfort. Sometimes he forgot that not everyone liked the spotlight like that. He never did until he had to. It never bothered him before but something about that man's face, his eyes . . . John peeked out of the curtain and saw him at the table. He had to hurry and change.  

"That was brilliant, Sherlock," Molly said, turning to grab at his hand. "Oh my god, I am so glad you were here!"  
  
She started talking to the women at the table. The lights had changed again and Sherlock hoped that that meant the night was over. But none of the women made a move, except for the brown-haired Josie who disappeared for a minute and returned with more drinks. "A cop's up next," she said. "I heard someone talking at the bar." She handed out the drinks. "What do you think, Sherlock?" she asked. "Which do you fancy more -- firefighter or copper?" All the women were laughing, and Sherlock wished he could as well but he was never very good at laughter.

"You are all perverts" was all he could say, and that seemed to do the trick, because they were laughing and shrieking again and no longer focused on him. He took a drink from his glass, trying to disappear from the room.

The music started again, and this time Sherlock was not taking any chances. He got up and called "My round," excusing himself from the table as quickly as he could. He tried to not even look at the stage. However, he didn't push to the bar either -- he was in no hurry to get back to the table. He thought about just leaving, but he knew that would upset Molly, and even though she was to blame for this whole disaster, she was mostly kind and helped him with his work. He just prayed the night would be over soon.

John got dressed before he counted the money he'd made tonight. Four hundred pounds. It was incredible. By next year when he applied for school he would have the whole tuition or close to it anyway. He grabbed his belongings and headed out of the dressing room, pausing to watch Greg start his show. The good thing was that, when he was wearing clothes, no one recognised him. The half naked man on stage helped as well. He looked around for the dark haired man, not seeing him at his table.

He moved towards the bar for and saw the man standing close, not ordering anything yet. He had the thought that the man was hiding before he was involved in a show again and it made John feel slightly guilty. He walked over to the man and tapped his arm. "I just wanted to say sorry about all that. I always pick someone in the audience, they like that sort of thing so . . . so yeah. Sorry." 

He knew he was rambling but then he's never felt like he had to apologise before. It didn't help that the man was a lot more handsome than John had previously realised.

"What?" Sherlock asked. This stranger was suddenly talking to him, and it took a second to realise it was the dancer. "Yeah, fine," he said once he knew what was going on. "Obviously this isn't really my scene . . . I don't really care what you do." He waited for the tray of drinks.

John nodded, still looking up at him when he turned away to wait for his order. "You seemed a bit out of place," he agreed. "I hope I didn't make it worse. Anyway, maybe I'll see you around." He said it more out of habit than an actual wish -- he doubted this man would ever set foot in here again. The bartender handed John a bottle of water and John grinned his thanks, turning to leave.

"Do you like this?" Sherlock called. He didn't want to go back to the table until the new dancer was gone, and this guy seemed relatively normal compared to everyone else in this club. 

John turned back around and moved closer so he could hear better. "Like what? The dancing?"

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "It's a bit . . . stupid, isn't it?"

John smiled lightly. "Yeah, it is," he agreed. "But I have bills and the money is not stupid."

"Fair enough," Sherlock said. There had been a lot of money on that stage. What an odd way to go about making a living though. "You a drug addict? Is that why you need so much money?"

John laughed out loud. "No," he said. "I am going to medical school next year and I need to pay for that."

Sherlock looked him over. Yes, that definitely made more sense. "I see," he said. "Well, that's all . . . well, goodbye, I guess," he said, taking the tray and moving back to the table. The women were still looking towards the stage. Sherlock leaned down to Molly and said, "How much longer?"

She smiled at him and looked around at her friends. "Last one then?" she said, lifting the shot glass. They all followed suit, including Sherlock, and downed their drinks. The lights came up a bit, and they all started heading out.

Sherlock stayed near Molly. "Let's share a taxi," he said. "I want to make sure you get home all right."  
  
She smiled and said thanks, as she was a bit wobbly on her feet. He got a cab, holding the door open for her, and they headed off.

"Thanks for coming, Sherlock," she said.

"You're welcome," he said. "Did you enjoy your birthday?"

"Yeah," she said. "Did you enjoy your dance?"

He wasn't sure if she was teasing or if perhaps she had noted his arousal. Hoping she was too drunk to stay focused, he didn't really answer. "That's the first time I've ever been to a place like that," he said instead.

"I don't go there all the time!" she said loudly. "It was just for fun -- you know, girls' night out."

"I'm not a girl," Sherlock said.

"I know you're not a girl," she said. "You're . . . Sherlock." She stared out the window. "Thanks for coming. I just wanted us to have some fun."

He glanced over at her. "I did have fun," he lied. "Thanks for inviting me."

She bought it. When the taxi pulled up in front of her place, she leaned over and put a little kiss on his cheek. "You'll be around next week?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "I'll come by."

Molly got out but Sherlock had the driver wait until she was safely inside. Then he gave the man his address and he headed home.

John waved goodbye and left the club, taking a cab to his little flat. He was still thinking about that man as he put his money away until he could go to the bank. Tomorrow he was going up as a construction worker, and he was imagining his dance and his moves as he lay down to go to sleep. He wondered if that man would be there and, without thinking about it, incorporated that man into his routine. He fell asleep in the middle of his dance.

Sherlock made himself a cup of tea and took it to bed. He swallowed a few aspirins, worried he'd have a bad headache tomorrow. He didn't usually drink alcohol and tonight he'd drunk a lot. He turned out the light and closed his eyes, realising he did feel a bit like the room was spinning. Luckily, he fell asleep quite quickly.


	2. The Dreams

In the morning when Sherlock woke, the first thought was the terrible taste in his mouth. He sat up and took a quick sip of the cold tea. His second thought was of his dream. He had dreamt about the dancer. He had dreamt that the dancer lived here with him. Odd. Then he remembered another detail of the dream: the dancer slept in the same bed as Sherlock. He glanced at the other side of the bed as if there'd be evidence of the dream somewhere on it. Of course, there wasn't. He closed his eyes for a moment: an unusual thing had happened to him last night plus he'd been drunk. Those two things were obviously the reasons this guy had shown up in Sherlock's dream. It was logical. He dragged himself out of bed and into the shower. His hangover was entirely unpleasant.

The next morning John went to the bank, depositing the money as quickly as he could. As long as he had been doing this he still wasn't comfortable with the odd looks the tellers gave him when taking all of that cash. He didn't know if they knew he was dancing or if they thought he did drugs like that man did, but it didn't matter. It wouldn't be for too much longer now anyway.  
  
He met Greg for lunch and they talked about their routines tonight. Greg had tried flirting with a man that ended up being a real cop, and he was very unresponsive. "And not the nice kind of 'oh, what a surprise' unresponsive like your guy. Just normal, 'I am going to pound you into the ground' unresponsive."  
  
John laughed. "Maybe you should just stick to women."  
  
"There's a bridal party coming in tonight," Greg told him. John groaned loudly and sighed. Those were the worst because they had to have the bride on stage and give her most of the attention. She usually had a bit of money, but no other woman would while they were dancing for one girl alone. "I know," Greg said. "Stay and do a second dance later in the night, it'll be a bit emptier but worth it for a bit more money."  
  
"Yeah, I'll see." After lunch John went back home and had to rethink his whole routine. But again, instead of imagining the faceless bride, he imagined the handsome face of that man from the night before.

Sherlock worked for a bit on a project he had started a few days ago, but the throbbing headache made progress difficult. He tried to eat some toast and soup, but that was a struggle. After a while he took a hot bath, which seemed to help. In fact it helped so much that somehow between getting out of the tub and getting dressed, he'd managed to crawl back into bed with only his pajama bottoms on and sleep for a few more hours.

When he woke up, he knew he'd made a mistake. Before he even glanced at the clock, he knew it was evening -- the darkness of the sky filled his bedroom and he got up quickly to pull the curtains back. He grabbed a t-shirt and slipped it on and then went out to make a cup of tea. As he waited for the kettle to boil, he remembered his dream from the nap.

The dancer had been in it again.

This was slightly less logical. Why was Sherlock dreaming again of this guy? Was it just because he'd had that erection? That seemed stupid -- he didn't know this guy from Adam and the atmosphere of the whole evening, the awkwardness, the drinking, the girls lusting after every man they'd seen on the pub crawl -- surely those were the things that had tricked Sherlock's body into getting aroused.

Still in this dream, there'd been more than last night. Nothing sexual -- just talking, being together, living together, like friends. It was strange and Sherlock wanted to understand what was going on in his brain.

That night John got to the club early so he could scope out the situation. He found the bridal party immediately, the bride was wearing a crown and a ridiculous sash. He found Greg in the dressing room as he was finishing up, dressed like a cowboy. "Really?" John asked, laughing softly.  
  
"You laugh but there's only so many costumes. This will be you one day."  
  
John rolled his eyes and started getting ready.

Sherlock got online as he drank his tea, Googling the name of the club he'd been at last night. There were photos of men, but none of the dancer from his dream. To be honest, Sherlock doubted any of the men in the photographs really worked there -- they seemed like stock photos. He doubted the guy really was a firefighter -- wait, when they'd spoken last night the guy had said medical school. He tried to imagine the guy dressed like a doctor but he couldn't imagine him in a hospital. Instead he saw him dressed as a doctor on a stage, stripping off. He shut his computer grumpily.

He didn't care that it was almost eleven o'clock at night. He found himself getting dressed and heading out. A little bit later, he found himself outside the club and then he found himself inside. This time he stood by the bar. The club was mostly full of women -- a few tables looked quite rowdy and one appeared to be some kind of hen party. He got himself a drink.

"Is the firefighter working tonight?" he asked the bartender as he slid his money towards him.

"How the hell would I know?" the bartender answered, turning quickly to the women shouting at the end of the bar.

Sherlock moved to the corner of the club, making sure he could see the stage but hoping he couldn't be seen as well.

John listened as Greg started the show. There would be four of them out there tonight, all for the bride. John waited behind the curtain in his jeans, tool belt, and hard hat. He peeked out into the crowd again. Soon Greg was pulling the bride up and John was walking out.

Sherlock saw the dancer. He wasn't a firefighter tonight, he was . . . a builder? Odd. He watched him move on the stage. He seemed so confident. The way he danced, moving around the other men and then the woman who was on the stage with them. He was incredibly handsome, Sherlock could understand why the women enjoyed watching him. Sherlock realised he enjoyed watching him. He shifted a little, leaning against the wall and finishing his drink. The man was really quite sexy. Sherlock moved quickly to the bar to get another drink, watching the stage the whole time. He moved a little closer to the stage, standing behind a pillar.

John moved in front of the woman, straddling her knees and rolling his whole body into her. She was bright red but grinning and laughing, stuffing money into his pants. John put her hands on his waist band and had her tear them off leaving just the tool belt in the front. She laughed in delight and added more money. Now Greg and the other men played jealous, pushing John away for their turn to dance on her. John turned to dance for the crowd for a bit and saw the man looking up but pretending he wasn't. John winked at him before turning around to tease taking his tool belt off.

Sherlock pretended he didn't notice the dancer's wink. But he also found himself a bit agitated. He realised he didn't like the other men being up there with him, actually he didn't like the woman being there either. It was so stupid -- this was all play, the guy was doing it for money, and what did any of this have to do with Sherlock anyway? He moved back to the corner, pretending not to care what was going on. Also stupid, he knew -- why else would he be here? Why was he here? He still didn't know. He hoped he'd figure it out soon.

When the ties came loose John turned but the man wasn't in the same spot. John's smile faltered and he looked around, unable to spot him. Maybe he hadn't been here for John. Now he realised what a stupid thought that had been. The woman on stage slapped his arse, and he came out of his head moving the belt away to show the small underwear barely holding him in.

When it was over they went to the back to change and John decided he would stay for one more show. The dance with the woman left him with fifty -- quite a bit from one person but not enough for the night. He tied the belt back on to wait for his next turn.

Sherlock watched the dancers leave the stage and then walked up nearer to it, trying to scope out the layout of the club hidden from the guests. He was relatively sure he knew which door would get him backstage. And then one of the dancers came out of the door, and Sherlock realised that it had hardly been the mystery he acted like it was. He went through the door, trying not to look at anything in case some barely clothed men were around. Then he saw the man he was looking for. Fortunately he had put a few more clothes on. He walked up to him and tapped his shoulder.

"Hello," Sherlock said awkwardly.

John turned and lifted the hard hat a bit so he could see better. "Oh, I thought you left," he said.

"I didn't," Sherlock said. "I'm not entirely sure why I came at all, but it appears I haven't left."

John tilted his head a bit, unable to tell if it was a joke or not. "Well . . .there's still more shows if you want to watch," he said. He didn't want to mention he himself was going up in case that's not what he was here for.

"Um," Sherlock said. "I don't think . . . are you done for the night, then?"

John shook his head, gesturing to his construction outfit. "I am going on again in about twenty minutes," he said. "Then I'll be done," he adds in case that's what he's really asking for.

"And what will you do then? Go home with one of the patrons for some extra income?" Sherlock asked, even though he knew it was kind of a horrible thing to say. But maybe this guy was involved in some crime and that's why he seemed important. Maybe this was some kind of case.

John frowned. "Look, you don't have to stay here and watch any of this. It's just dancing." He turned and pretended to look for something on the rack with the costumes since he couldn't push past the guy and leave the room. He felt his face heating with embarrassment at the suggestion that he slept around for money.

Sherlock turned and went back to the bar. He didn't really want another drink -- he'd had two quite quickly already -- so he just got a soda. Maybe it had been the alcohol that had made him say that? He sat down at the end of the bar this time. Soon the music was starting and the lights dimmed and then the dancer came out on the stage. However, this time Sherlock felt ashamed of himself for watching him. Last night he had Molly as an excuse, but why was he here now -- just to get some pervy thrills ogling a handsome man? The fact that there was even a slight chance that that was the real reason made Sherlock felt guilty. He left his unfinished soda on the bar and walked home.

John's whole routine was off that night. He might as well have gone home after the dance with the bride for all the good it did him. Sure, an extra hundred for the night was better than nothing but his mood was low and he found he was mad at that guy for what he said. Why would he come find him back stage to harass him? No one forced him to come watch. Why didn't he just leave?  
  
"Everything all right? You seemed distracted," Greg said as they changed into their normal clothes.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"  
  
Greg nodded and John left the club, grabbing his usual water bottle before walking home.

When Sherlock got back, he flopped onto his bed and tried to read the book that was lying on his bedside cabinet. Even though he'd started it the day before, he couldn't follow along because he felt unable to concentrate. What was wrong with him?

He considered calling Molly and asking her if the dancer guy was bothering her as well. But he know that'd be stupid -- all it was was a ridiculous, drunken night out. It didn't mean anything to her, to anyone, not even to the dancer. For him it was just another night at work. So why was this guy stalking Sherlock via his dreams?  
  
Sherlock rolled over on his bed and looked at the pillow next to him. Was he just . . . horny? He didn't really get those urges very often, but whether it was the guy or the situation, the truth is Sherlock had been aroused. Was he just getting weirded out by that fact? He rolled onto his back again and stared up at the ceiling. He felt nervous to sleep in case he had another dream. He kept staring at the ceiling as he stripped himself of his clothes. He lay naked on the bed for a moment and then got under the covers. He decided he would try to masturbate, perhaps that would just get the whole thing off his mind. He stared up at the ceiling again. He didn't need to think about anything when he masturbated. He understood the mechanics of the body. He knew what he needed to do with his hand so he started doing it, keeping his eyes focused on the crack in the ceiling. His eyes started to water since he was staring so hard so he closed them for a second.

And the dancer appeared.

Sherlock watched him move across the stage. He moved closer to Sherlock who was sitting at the same table as the first night. Except this time Molly and the Josies weren't there. No one was there except Sherlock and the firefighter who stepped off the stage and moved closer, crawling onto Sherlock's lap and kissing his mouth hard. And then Sherlock was coming into his hand. He sat and cleaned himself up before lying down on his side and squeezing shut his eyes. While it had felt good, masturbation hadn't fixed this problem. Sherlock just felt guilty again, like he was using this guy for his own pleasure. It didn't seem right. He didn't want to do it again. He didn't want to think about him anymore.


	3. The Universe Messes With Sherlock's Mind

John had slept fitfully all night. He'd been thinking about the comment that man had made and wondered how many others thought the same thing about him. He was just dancing so he could go to school. Sure, it was more fun than he had anticipated, but he was used to interacting with screaming women and their money. Not with anyone actually questioning him about his choices.  
  
He woke up feeling angry again, cursing that man for coming into the club at all. He didn't go to the bank that morning, instead brooding in his flat for half the day. And then he decided that he wasn't going to let that man bother him and he met Greg for lunch in the park. And yet he couldn't let it go.  
  
"Has anyone ever asked you to sleep with them for money?"  
  
Greg choked on his sandwich. "No! Did someone ask you?"  
  
John shook his head. "They just made a suggestion, I just wondered if that was normal."  
  
"Well, it's definitely an unfortunate stereotype," he said. "Was she hot?"  
  
John shook his head. "It was a guy."  
  
"Oh! Not your junior fireman, was it?" Greg grinned and nudged John's arm.  
  
"Fuck off," John said, but he couldn't help grinning. That man's opinion didn't mean anything. Tonight he was going to go into work and dancing his arse off.

When Sherlock woke up in the morning, he couldn't remember having any dreams. This relieved him greatly. He got up, showered, and had a cup of tea while he read the paper online. He decided to go out for a walk. He wandered the streets for a bit just looking at the city. He passed by some builders who were renovating the old library. He glanced up and a man on the scaffolding was looking down, staring at him. He hurried into a shop. He bought some milk and then picked up some scratch cards to take to Mrs Hudson when he returned. He decided to get some flowers for her as well and then headed out.

"Who are those for, sweetheart?" the man on the scaffolding called as he passed but Sherlock didn't turn his head. He rushed back to the flat, stopping to knock on Mrs Hudson's door.

She opened it and smiled. "I was just going to come up and get you," she said, pulling him inside.

"I brought you something," he said, handing her the cards. "And flowers, I guess," he added, handing her those as well.

"Come in," she said, leading him into the kitchen. "There's someone I want you to meet."

Sherlock followed her in and at the table was a young man. Sherlock stood awkwardly at the door.

"This is my nephew," Mrs Hudson said, digging around the cupboards to find a vase. "I thought the two of you might get along. He's a fireman."

"What?" Sherlock said loudly. "Who told you about that?"

"About what?" Mrs Hudson asked.

Sherlock was trying to make sense of what was happening. He refused to look at the guy. "Who . . ." he started to say but he couldn't figure out what he was actually trying to ask. "I'm sorry," he said. "I've got to go." He turned and rushed upstairs.

He shut the door and leaned back against it. This was ridiculous. Was it purely a coincidence that a builder had spoken to him and then Mrs Hudson had wanted him to meet a firefighter? Could those just be random events that just happened to have occurred after he had developed a confusing obsession with a dancer who dressed as a builder and a fireman?

Everyone else in the world would say yes, Sherlock, those three things are completely unconnected, pure chance. But Sherlock didn't believe that. There must be a reason. He looked up at the clock and then got online to see if the club was open again tonight. He would have to go again until he understood what exactly the universe was telling him.


	4. Sherlock Gets Another Chance

Tonight John wore his doctor costume. It wasn't really a costume at all -- just a white coat and a stethoscope, so John added a tight shirt and trousers so the dance would go on a bit longer. And the more he teased them, the more they wanted, and the more they'd give him to give it to them. A part of him was thinking about that man, but he told himself he wasn't going to care. He was just going to dance for the money he needed and that was that. He listened as Greg started the night, waiting backstage for his turn.

Sherlock walked to the club, but when he went in, some other guy was dancing. Maybe his dancer wouldn't even be here tonight. He went up to the bar. The bartender clearly recognised him and gave him what seemed like a pathetic smile. Sherlock got a drink but had already decided to make this one last longer. It was just a prop really, something to hold in his hand, until he figured out what the fuck he was actually doing here.

The music stopped and John moved closer to the curtain. They made their usual awful joke and then he was announced and he walked out smiling. He didn't look around. He kept his gaze focused on the women at the very front, the ones close to the stage, and he started  
dancing, toying with the buttons on his shirt.

Sherlock watched as his dancer came out. He didn't look around, he hadn't seen Sherlock. He was staring at a woman, looking at her like he had looked at Sherlock on Molly's birthday.

Sherlock did not like that one bit.

Before he even thought about what he was doing, he was walking towards the stage. He moved to the table next to the woman's and pulled a chair from it, placing it too near hers and the edge of the stage. He held his drink on his lap and looked up at the dancer.

John glanced and did a double take, looking at the man for a moment before meeting the woman's eyes again. He grinned, and when he tore off his shirt, he tossed it down to her. He squatted down and pulled on his pants, snapping her money in the elastic and winking at her before standing and moving back again. He turned his back to the crowd and opened his jacket, shimmying and rolling as he slowly lowered it. He let it drop, turning back around and rolling his whole body with the music.

Sherlock was annoyed. He was right here -- the guy had seen him -- why was he still dancing for that woman? Sherlock reached into his pocket and got out his wallet. He took out a twenty and stood up and held it out to the dancer.

John looked at the money and, for one second, felt ashamed that he was going to dance for it. But then he realised he could use this to his own advantage. "A twenty," he said loudly, grinning mischievously. "Well, that's a special dance."

He hopped off the stage and climbed into his lap, holding his gaze. "You can slip it right in," he said, moving his hips with the music still. Out of the corner of his eye he saw hands up all over, most likely with twenties, for a bit of personal contact. He tried not to let that thought leave him shamed as well. It was his job and he was just good at it.

Sherlock hadn't been expecting what was happening, but he liked it. It was a bit like his dream. Except it wasn't because there were people here and it wasn't for the right reason. In the dream, the man wanted Sherlock, not Sherlock's money. He let the man move over his lap as he slid the note into the guy's pants. "Please, not like this," he said even though he wasn't sure what he meant. He pushed at the man's hips, trying to move him away. The woman next to him grabbed at the dancer's arm.

John flushed. "Apparently that's what I do," he said before moving on to the next guest. He smiled again, not as wide as before, finally looking around to see how many he had to do before getting on stage. Six more. He thought about getting to school and worked his way through them as quickly as they would allow him. Back on stage he couldn't bring himself to look at the man in the front. The song ended and John bowed, waving at the room before exiting quickly.

Sherlock moved away from the stage as soon as the dancer left him. He couldn't decide whether or not to just leave or to try to wait. But wait for what? To talk to the guy? Why? He had been rude the night before and tonight he didn't even know what he was trying to say. He moved to the bar and ordered another drink. He took out a cigarette, but the bartender shouted and pointed to the no smoking sign. "I'll be back in a minute," he said and headed out the door to have a smoke. 

John had never changed so quickly after a show. He wanted to get out of this place as fast as possible and just forget about tonight. Why was that guy coming back every night? What was he playing at? John stuffed the money all over, in his pockets and wallet. He hurried out of the place without getting his usual water bottle, turning to go and slamming into someone outside, hard enough to almost knock him off his feet.

"Sorr -- oh," he said, looking up at the same man. He turned to leave without saying anything else to him.

"Wait," Sherlock called, grabbing at his arm and then regretting it, though it did stop him from leaving. "I'm sorry," he stuttered. "I don't know . . . what I'm doing."

John stared at him. "What you're doing is insulting me and harassing me and . . . and I don't know what else," he said. He was also frazzling and infuriating and intriguing him, but John didn't mention those out loud.

"That's what I mean," Sherlock said. "I am aware I'm doing those things even though I don't intend to. I literally don't know what I'm doing. I don't even know why I'm here." He finished his cigarette and threw the end down on the ground.

"Well, I don't know why you keep coming either. No, I can guess why you keep coming here. But why do you keep . . . " He considered the words bothering, harassing, attacking, but they didn't sound good. " . . . keep talking to me?"

"I feel --" Sherlock started but he wasn't sure what he felt. "Wait," he interrupted himself. "What do you mean -- you can guess why I keep coming here? What do you think it is?" If this guy knew, that'd make things much easier.

"You're attracted to the dancers and you want to get off, just like all those women in there," John said.

"I am not!" Sherlock said angrily. "I didn't even watch any of them . . ." His voice trailed off because they both knew Sherlock had watched him.

"But you watched me," John said, unsure what to make of it. Every regular had a favourite dancer. "And you paid me. Did you like your dance? Or were expecting more? I'm afraid that'll be more than a twenty," he said, unable to help himself. It bothered him and he wanted to see this man bothered too. To see him sorry or ashamed of saying it.

"You mean I have to pay for this?" Sherlock asked. "To talk to you . . . I have to give you money?"

John's brow furrowed. "Are you trying to be funny?"

"No," Sherlock said. "I'm trying to make sense of why I keep coming back to see you." There, he'd said it. Whatever was going on wasn't about the dancers, it was about this dancer.

"If you think I am going to have sex with you for money, you can go to hell," John said. He stared up at him defiantly but deep down he hoped that wasn't the case. He was just as intrigued by him at he seemed to be with John, but John wouldn't admit that until he knew what the deal was.

"What? God, I didn't think that at all . . . I wasn't thinking that, I wasn't," Sherlock said. "I don't know why I said that last night but it wasn't because that's what I was looking for . . ." God, he felt like a total idiot. "I don't know what I'm looking for -- I mean I came here with a friend, I didn't even want to come, but now . . . I can't stop, it appears, and I'm not sure why." 

"Because you want to watch me dance?" John asked. He wasn't as angry now that he saw the shock on the man's face.

"I don't think so . . . because it bothers me," Sherlock admitted. "I'm not sure why it does," he added, though he'd recognised the feeling he'd felt when he'd seen the guy with the bride and the woman tonight. It was jealousy, which was too stupid and too weird to say aloud at the moment.

John narrowed his eyes. "Were you trying to shame me into stopping because you don't approve?"

"No," Sherlock said. "I don't think so . . . I wasn't thinking that. It's your life. I don't even know you, who am I to judge? I just felt . . . I felt bad I kept coming back but then I felt like I had to keep coming back." He ran his hand through his hair. "Look, I sound like an idiot and I'm not. I'm just trying to figure out what meaning you have, to me, I mean." Sherlock was not unaware that that explanation did not make him sound any less of an idiot.

John watched him for a long time. What meaning could John have to this man? He didn't understand but now he was more curious than ever. "What's your name?"

"Sherlock," Sherlock said. "Sherlock Holmes. What's your name?"  
  
"John. John Watson," he said. "Now. Won't it be easier to find out about my 'meaning' if we met a bit more formally than this?" John pointed to the building.

"Yeah, I suppose," Sherlock mumbled and then realised what was John was saying. "You mean, we could meet somewhere else, in the day, and talk?"

John nodded. "Yeah, why not?"

"All right," Sherlock said. "When?" He didn't want to say too much now in fear this guy would change his mind.

"I work late so I can meet any time during the day, but I am actually off tomorrow. I know that's kind of last minute but if you're free we can have dinner."

"I'm free," Sherlock said a little too eagerly. "I mean, yes, I could have dinner tomorrow. What time? Do you want to come to my flat?" 

"Oh, do you cook?" John asked, thinking they would go out somewhere.

"Um, no," Sherlock said. "We could order something or go out . . . whatever you want."

John considered him for a moment before smiling in amusement. "Your place, huh? Are you sure you're not trying to get sex out of me?" he teased. 

"What? I thought you said you didn't do that?" Sherlock said. Is that what this guy was offering? It's not what Sherlock wanted, though he then panicked that John somehow knew about what he did after having those dreams. "I'm sorry, I -- I thought we were going to have dinner?"

"Hey," John said, pushing Sherlock's arm lightly. "I was kidding. Give me your phone so I can give you my number."

Sherlock handed him his phone. He stood there stupidly, watching. "Thanks," he said. "Tomorrow, yeah, around six?"

John gave him the phone back. "Just text me the address and I'll be there," he said. "See you." He smiled wider and turned to leave, hailing a cab to go home. He couldn't believe he had a date with that man who had previously annoyed him so much.

Sherlock headed home. He felt a mixture of excitement, nerves, and also a bit of confusion. This is what he'd wanted -- after spending dinner together, he should have a clearer idea of what this man meant, why he was having this effect on Sherlock. Yet, he couldn't deny he also had other feelings about this man, and this man seemed to know. Sherlock was attracted to him, had masturbated to the thought of him, had even given him money to get a dance. He felt stupid about all that. How was he going to handle being alone with him for an evening?

As he passed Mrs Hudson's door, he considered stopping in to ask for her advice. He decided not to, at least not yet. If he planned, maybe he could manage to do this on his own.

At home John thought about the whole night as he made himself something to eat. The dance for Sherlock didn't make him as angry as it had before now that he had a better understanding of him. He seemed nervous and awkward, but John found it endearing. Was it because of John's job or was this not something he did often? He said he didn't know what he was doing, but that was okay.

He climbed into bed and thought about the look on the teller's face when he went to the bank tomorrow morning, his stack of money the most he's had in a long time. He fell asleep thinking about his date and it seeped into his dream, but when he rose in the morning he didn't remember any of it. 


	5. The Date

When Sherlock woke the next morning, he set about coming up with a plan for the evening. He first tidied up the flat -- he rarely had guests and it showed. He washed all the dishes and hid away the work from his experiments.

Then he thought about food -- he didn't know if John would want to order food or if Sherlock should make something. The problem was, he had nothing. He got a piece of paper and made a list of things that normal people might eat or need. He had a bottle of wine but thought maybe he should get some beer, it seemed like John might like beer. He should have some snack-type foods and maybe he could get a nice dinner that needed warming up, just in case John didn't want to order out. He decided he probably did need some help from Mrs Hudson.

He went down and explained the situation. She wrote down some suggestions for Sherlock to guy and even offered him some coupons, though he refused to take them. Then she said, "Do you need advice on, you know, anything else?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well," she said. "I've just not really seen you date much and you got all . . . weird just meeting my nephew. Is this all new to you?"

"Maybe," he said. His face flushed. "I'm not even entirely sure it's a date."

"What do you mean?" she asked. "It sounds like a date."

"Well, maybe, but he's . . . I think he's a bit more experienced with this kind of thing. I mean . . . I don't think my style is normal so maybe he just thinks . . . I don't know what he thinks."  
  
"What do you mean he's more experienced? I thought you just met him -- how do you know he's experienced?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Well, I don't know," Sherlock said. He didn't want to say that John was a stripper, but he wasn't sure why. Was he embarrassed? For himself or for John? He felt like he needed more information himself before he could try explaining it to anyone else.

Mrs Hudson looked over at him. It was like his brain was firing but it was all random, and she knew him well enough to know that he must be suffering -- Sherlock Holmes liked clarity, and it was clear he was not experiencing it.

"Look," she said, reaching over and touching his hand. "Maybe try not to think about things too much? A new person is coming over to visit you -- that's all. Don't try to figure everything out until you know more. Just be yourself and let him be himself and if you like each other, you'll each know how to act. Trust me." She patted his hand and then pulled back, smiling sweetly.

He thanked her and went off to the shop to get the things on her list. But he went a bit overboard and ended up spending quite a bit of money. He carried it all home and packed it away. He lay down on the sofa and tried to remember what Mrs Hudson had said. All he needed to do was be himself.

In the morning John went to the bank, now grinning at the teller as she counted the money and gave him the deposit receipt. He winked before leaving and couldn't believe how happy he was at the thought of a date. He realised as he headed back home that while Sherlock was going to try to figure out John's meaning, John was going to be doing the same. He had never thought about a guest at the club so much before, never tried to speak to them out of costume, and certainly never met any of them outside of work, especially in their homes. There was something different about Sherlock, and John was going to try and figure out exactly what it was. 

He watched the telly for a bit, flipping through the channels before giving up and using some of his free time to work out. Then he showered and looked through all of the clothes he owned, realising he was taking it all apart to find something classy. Something that Sherlock would see and maybe forget that John danced and stripped for a living. He didn't want his job to be the focal point of the date. When he was ready and it was almost six, he paced in his living room as he waited for the text of the address. 

Once Sherlock was showered and dressed, he stood in the center of the sitting room, looking around the place. This was his flat -- it was his space and who he was -- so if Mrs Hudson was right, this would just have to be good enough. He fished out his phone and sent John a text with his address.

_I look forward to seeing you. SH_

_I'm on my way. -JW_

John sent the message before locking his door and heading out to get a cab. John paid the driver and looked up at the building before knocking loudly on the door, stepping back on the pavement to wait for an answer. 

Sherlock opened the door. "Hello, John," he said. "Hello. Hello." He stood there stupidly for a moment, and then stepped back, letting him come in. "Did you find it okay?"

"Yeah, the cab brought me pretty quickly," he said, stepping inside to the little entrance hall. He looked around, glanced at the door with the A on it and pointed to the stairs. "That way, then?" he asked, smiling at Sherlock. 

"Um, yes," Sherlock said. "We're going upstairs." He moved and led John up to the flat. "This is it," he said. "Here, sit down. I made tea." He moved to the kitchen and brought the tray over and then sat down in his chair. He tried to take a few breaths to calm himself a bit.

John followed and looked around as he was herded to the sofa. He could tell the place was usually messy but Sherlock had tried to clean up -- there were a lot of things _crammed_ into places around the room. It was sweet. He watched Sherlock put the tray down and then sit across the room in an arm chair. "Um . . . it's a date right? Why are you all the way over there?" He smiled softly and pat the sofa beside him. "Come sit with me so we can talk more easily."

Sherlock felt a bit of panic -- was this some kind of move he should be aware of? What did John think was happening? It was a ridiculous question because of course Sherlock didn't really understand what was happening. But John had made that joke about his bringing him to the flat for sex -- is that what John thought Sherlock wanted? Was that what he wanted? Is that what John wanted?

"Is this a date?" Sherlock clarified, without getting up yet. "I wasn't sure . . . I mean, how we met was a bit . . . odd."

John's smile faltered. "I . . . I was just trying to get you a bit closer. Not for sex or anything. Just . . . because." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and found himself wishing they had gone to a restaurant or something. "Look, I don't have sex for money and I don't meet guests for money and . . . I just dance. My job is dancing and if you can't get past that and stop seeing me as some kind of sex worker then I can leave now." He stared at his mug while he said it and tried not to breathe too loudly. He'd worn his nicest outfit, and he had really hoped this would be just a normal date.

Sherlock sat forward a little. "I didn't mean that . . . I didn't mean you or your job," he said. "I meant me, I'm the odd one. I know what your job is and you've already explained the other things but . . . you don't think this is unusual? You don't think it's strange that I kept coming back and then invited you here?" He took a sip of tea. "I've been honest that I don't know what I'm doing . . . but what about you? Why did you say yes? Why are you really here?"

John blinked at him and realised he might have underestimated how much Sherlock actually does this. "I thought you kept coming back because you liked me and I said yes because I like you. I thought you wanted to get to know me and I suggested a date because I want to get to know you. And you're the one that picked your own flat so . . . I'm here." 

"But how can you know you like me? Or me like you? We don't even know each other . . ." Sherlock said, trying to make sense of everything. "Wait, do you mean you . . . fancy me, is that what you're talking about?"

"Yes," John said. "I suppose you're right. I don't know if I like you as a person but I think you're handsome and . . ." John glanced at the bookshelf and the half hidden beakers. " . . . and I think that you're smart and I just want to go on a date and find out more. Don't you fancy me? Isn't that why you kept coming to the club to see me?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "I mean . . . well, yes, I'm sorry, it's true, I must fancy you. I didn't mean to, but it happened. But I don't think that's totally why I came back, I feel like it's more. But I hope you're not angry because I fancy you without even knowing you."

"Why would I be angry? I fancy you and I don't know you either." John put the mug down and took a deep breath. This was not the date that he had in mind. "Look, why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"Hold on," Sherlock said. "Really? You really think you fancy me? I find that a little hard to believe. I've seen you now three times -- all those people want you and you're claiming you fancy me?"

John opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out. "Sherlock, everyone in that room is . . . anonymous. I don't know who they are and they don't know who I am, just like you that first night. I never remember faces. They are all the same, screaming woman to me. But I remembered your face. I looked for you and I wanted to see you again. Now, that's never happened before so yeah, I am pretty sure that I fancy you." 

"But what about him?"

John's brow furrowed. "Who?"

"That guy you were dancing with," Sherlock said. "He's better looking than me and it seemed . . . like you liked him . . . because of how you were dancing."

John curled his fingers in his hair and tried very hard not to groan in frustration. "That's my job!" He looked over at Sherlock and begged him to understand. "That is my job. This is my personal life. Please, Sherlock, you have to separate the two. And please don't pretend it will be fine if you really can't do it because . . . it hurts leaving later, okay? Please."

"I'm not pretending anything -- I don't want you to leave. God, this is so confusing," Sherlock said, worried now that everything was going wrong. "How can I possibly understand? I know you don't know me, but you were right, John, I am smart. I know it's arrogant to say but maybe I'm arrogant too. I have to be myself and even though I'm smart, I can't make sense of what happened then or what's happening now. You say you do those things because it's your job, but you did some of those things to me -- just because of your job? You didn't come here for your job but you . . . touched me for your job? I just --" He put his cup down and moved over to the sofa. "Look, I just wanted to understand . . . I couldn't figure out why I had dreams about you --"

"You dreamt about me?" John interrupted.

"No," Sherlock said. "Well, maybe, it's just . . . I wanted to understand why you seemed to have some importance to me, I just wanted to figure that out but it's like everything just gets more and more confusing."

"You came to the place that I worked and gave me money," John said. He stood and moved towards the door, just a couple steps, unsure what he wanted to do. "I had no choice but to dance with you, but I did want to. I wanted to touch you and when you gave me that money it made me feel ashamed. That's the first time that ever happened to me." He took a deep breath and moved closer to the door. "I just . . . I wanted a date. I wanted to see you and get to know you and maybe touch you again without feeling like that but . . .but it doesn't seem to be possible. I'm sorry." He pulled the door open and went down the stairs, his face burning with shame again.

Sherlock followed him down stairs, rushing to block the door. "John," he said. "I'm going to open this door and you're going to step outside. Don't walk away. Instead turn back and knock on the door and let's start the date again." He looked up at John's face and then stepped to the side, opening the door.

John stepped out on the pavement and heard the door close behind him. He looked down the street and considered running. But then the door was opening again and he turned around to face Sherlock, searching his face as he stood there. 

"Thank you for coming," Sherlock said. "My flat's upstairs." He turned and started up, hoping that John would follow him. If he didn't, Sherlock would know he'd made a mistake, that the universe was playing a joke on him. He hoped that wasn't true.


	6. The Date Do-Over

John stuffed his hands into his pockets and followed Sherlock back upstairs. "This is a nice flat," he said. 

"Thank you. I made tea," Sherlock said. "But now it's cold. You should probably know that my flat rarely looks like this -- it's messy because I'm messy because I'm busy. I do experiments and research for my brother mostly and occasionally I help the police. I do not have any friends and I do not go out on dates. I do not cook -- I went out and bought too much food because I had no idea what you'd want to eat. I drink a thousand cups of tea a day and sleep at strange hours. I have no idea what I find so intriguing about you, but it must mean something. In general, the last thing I want to do is be around other people, and for some reason it seems I want to be around you." He sat down in his chair and looked over at John, motioning for him to sit down.

John blinked quickly as he tried to process all of the information Sherlock had just given him. He took his jacket off and sat down on the sofa again. "My flat is small and tidy, not because I am neat but because I don't have a lot of things. I want to go to medical school -- it's a dream I have had since I was little so I am working as a dancer to raise the money I need. I'm not picky about food so anything you have is going to be fine. I had sort of given up on dating, and have never tried it with someone I met at work, but then I saw you and now I am here, trying to figure out what it means." 

Sherlock smiled at him. "Should I make more tea or I have beer or soda or some kind of red juice, I think. What would you like?"

"Tea is fine for now," he said. "Um . . . are you cooking or is the food already prepared because I really am hungry," he admitted. 

"I have to put it in the oven for twenty minutes at gas mark six," Sherlock repeated Mrs Hudson's instructions. He stood up and moved to the kitchen, flicking the switch to the kettle and putting the food into the over. He set the timer on his phone, poured two fresh cups of tea and handed one to John, who'd followed him in.

"Do you fancy women then as well?" Sherlock asked. "Or just men?"

"Both," John said. "But at the moment, it's just you."

Sherlock felt his face flush a bit. "And what about your family? Brothers? Sisters?" he asked.

"I have an older sister but we don't talk that much. My father passed away a long time ago and my mother lives up north." John sipped at his tea, breathing in the smell of the food. "What about you?"

"One brother with whom I do not really get along," Sherlock said. He took a sip of tea. "Is this better? I mean, is this more like what you wanted the date to be?" he asked quietly.

John nodded. "I just wanted to get to know you, Sherlock."

"Still fancy me?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded, looking up now. Sherlock was so handsome, and he still looked so nervous that John wanted to go over and just wrap his arms around him. "Yeah, I do."

"We've got eighteen minutes before the timer goes off," Sherlock said. "Do you want to go sit on the sofa with me?"

"Okay," John nodded, standing and moving over to his previous seat. 

Sherlock moved over and sat down next to John. He put his mug down and then took John's from his hands and set it on the table. He moved a little closer. "I liked when you were dancing by me," he said softly. "Whatever the reason you did it . . . I liked it."

John swallowed hard and gazed at Sherlock, reaching his hand up slowly. Gently, he touched Sherlock's cheek and traced it down to his jaw and neck. "I liked it, too," he said. He moved a little closer. A part of him thought this was still a misunderstanding, but the other half scolded him. He was the one that needed to let his work go now. He closed the space and kissed Sherlock's mouth softly. 

Sherlock leaned into the kiss, resting his hand on John's thigh. He tasted unfamiliar -- a bit of tea and maybe mouthwash but it was a new taste and it tasted good. Sherlock shifted a little to move even closer.

John slid his hand back into Sherlock's hair to hold him close.

Sherlock pushed a bit more into John, almost pushing him down onto the sofa. He pulled away from the kiss and looked at John's face. "That's what that first night made me want to do," he said, smiling tentatively.

John laughed breathlessly. "I thought I felt something," he teased. He couldn't remember if he really did or not. "If you had a kiss, everyone would have wanted one. Best we just do that here," he smiled.  

Sherlock leaned down and kissed him again. He moved his hips just a little, like John did when he was dancing.

John's hands came to the movement, holding Sherlock's hips and tugging him into his lap. He hoped Sherlock moved again. 

"It's been a long time," Sherlock huffed as he rocked against John. "I mean, I told you . . . there's something that makes you different. . ." He moved his mouth to John's neck and sucked on the skin.

John tilted his head and tried to arch his body flush to Sherlock's, sure that they could be touching even more than they were. He thrust up harder when the alarm on Sherlock's phone went off, and he faltered a bit. 

"Time to eat," Sherlock said, blushing a little but smiling. He moved away slowly and then stood up, adjusting himself a bit. "Let's eat at the table," he said, making his way to the kitchen. He set out some plates and silverware and then pulled the tray from the oven. "It's some kind of pasta bake or something," he explained. "My landlady said it'd be something everyone would like." He scooped some onto the plate. "I thought it'd look a bit better, but it's freshly made by this guy I know."

John stood and adjusted his own trousers as he followed Sherlock into the kitchen. "It looks great, really," John said. He sat at the table and pulled the plate close. "It is great," he confirmed when he tried it. 

"What kind of food do you like? I just mean if we were to have dinner together again at some point?" Sherlock asked, taking a little bite.

"Hmm. I wasn't kidding about not being picky but if I had to pick a favourite I would say Italian," he said. 

"That's good," Sherlock said. "Because the man I know runs an Italian restaurant." He smiled. "Did you do well in school? Are you smart enough to become a doctor, do you think?" he asked.

John laughed. "I suppose that's a matter of opinion. I am smart, and I will work very hard. I think sometimes that's more important."

"You seem smart," Sherlock said. "I'm smart and can recognise it in others. Maybe that's why you're intriguing -- maybe you're as smart as me." He looked down. "I told you I might be arrogant, but it's just true. Smart but a bit backwards socially . . . obviously."

"I doubt I'm as smart as you are," John smiled. "And it's okay. We got there in the end," he said.

"You're right," Sherlock said. "You're probably not as smart as me." He smiled cheekily. "But I'm not as sexy as you so I guess we balance out."

"Oh, but you are! More than me, I think, but that's probably because only I get to see it." John tried to imagine Sherlock dancing on stage, and the image wouldn't even form in his head.

"Well that's just a lie, John Watson," Sherlock said. "I mean about me. Not about you being the only one. You're definitely the only one who thinks that about me." He wasn't quite sure what else to say about that so he said nothing for a minute. "So, is there anything else you want to know about me? Any questions you can think of?"

"I don't think I'm the only one who thinks so, what about that group you came with the first night?" John asked.

"A girl I know from the lab," Sherlock said. "But she doesn't fancy me and I don't know any of the other ones. They all seemed to think I was too unusual." He took a bite of food. "Which I am, I suppose. But you know that now."

"Stop putting yourself down, okay?" John touched his hand lightly. "Do you work at the lab as well?"

It was strange to hear John say that because in truth it usually was other people putting Sherlock down. "Yeah, sometimes," Sherlock said. "If I need equipment I don't have here. You could come with me sometime if you want."

"Really?" John asked excitedly. "Yeah, that would be great. I'm curious to see what you do."

"There are definitely fewer screaming women, I can assure you," Sherlock said, but then kind of regretted it. "I don't know what my long term plans are or even how to describe what I do. I guess I'll need to make up my own job title once I figure it out." He looked down at his plate. "Um, do you have a lot of friends then?" he asked.

"Not really," John said. "Greg is one of my closest friends, I've known him for a long time. He is the one that got me the job I have. He's going for criminology, but he doesn't have any help with school. Plus he wants to go to the best one so he's saving. Other than there's just people I know, people I see everyday at work." He ate a bit more food before adding, "It's not the most important thing, a large group. Quality over quantity, really."

Sherlock wasn't sure if John was just saying that or not -- he found it hard to believe John didn't have tons of people wanting to be his friend (or more). But he was okay with that answer. He looked over at him. "Why do you think we met, John?" he asked.

John almost made a joke about Sherlock's friends being perverted enough to come see him dance, but the moment seemed off for that. He took a bite and seriously considered it. "I'm not sure," he said honestly. "But I want to stick around and find out."

"I hope we figure it out," Sherlock said. "Something's different -- I know that. I mean I know myself and I know something's going on. And I mean, obviously I do fancy you, but I'm telling you, John, it's something more than that. I don't know what it is yet but I know it's something, you can trust me about that." He didn't know if John would think his tone was too serious or if he sounded stupid or insane, but he knew what was true and what he'd said was true.

John smiled. "I believe you. I think I feel it too," he said. "Whatever it is." He ate a bit more pasta. "It sounds like you have a really interesting job -- you mentioned the police?"

"Well, kind of," Sherlock said. "My brother . . . knows people, and a few times I've helped out." He looked over. "What I'd really like is to be a detective, I guess. People could pay me to figure things out . . . obviously, I'm quite keen, as you can tell." He smiled weakly. 

"I think I'd like to see you on action," he smiled.

Sherlock swallowed awkwardly. "Is that a sex joke?" he stuttered.

"No!" John laughed. "I just meant . . . crime solving," he said.

Sherlock blushed. "Sorry," he said. "I feel like I'm not always sure about that kind of stuff. Not how to do it, I mean, I know about that -- it's just clearly you're a bit more normal when it comes to dating and . . . whatever. I think my explanations are only making me look more stupid."

John reached out and touched his hand. "Just relax," he smiled. "I don't think you're stupid."

"I'll try to relax," Sherlock said. "It's odd actually . . . I mean, obviously I still feel a bit weird since I'm rambling a little, but in a way, I do feel pretty relaxed around you. I don't normally feel like that around anyone. Even Molly -- the girl whose birthday it was -- she's nice and all, but I don't ever really feel relaxed . . ." His voice trailed off a little. He tried to smile and added, "You've not hypnotised me or anything, have you?"

John laughed again. He wasn't sure if Sherlock was trying to be funny or not, but he was charming and John was liking him more and more. "My dance moves aren't that good," he teased.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Oh really?" he said. "You're the only one I've ever seen -- are you saying there are guys better than you? Maybe I should go after one of them instead." He pulled a silly face at John.

John laughed again. "Now I'm jealous," he said. "I'm the best one. Don't leave."

"Well, you're here now, so I'll guess you'll have to do," Sherlock said, laughing a little. He stood up and put his plate in the sink. "I didn't get any dessert, I'm afraid. I tried to think of everything but I forgot." He sat back down.

"That's all right. It's not good for my dancer's body anyway, and I don't want you getting wandering eyes if I'm out of shape," he teased.

"I'll make some tea," Sherlock said, getting up again. While he was turned away, he said, "Well, it seems like even though we have some differences, so far, things seem okay between us." He took a little breath and added, "Maybe we should . . . sit on the sofa again?"

John smiled softly and picked at the table. "Yeah, we should." he agreed.

Sherlock took the tea into the other room. When John sat down next to him, "I meant, maybe we could kiss again," he explained.

John grinned. "I know what you meant." He didn't touch his mug as he leaned in and kissed him.

Sherlock let John kiss him. Then he turned and pressed against him, kissing him back even harder. It felt good and he was glad it was happening. 

John lifted his hand into Sherlock hair and tugged his hip, trying to get Sherlock into his lap again.

"John," Sherlock mumbled as he shifted to almost crawl over John. "I like this . . ." He gripped at John's shirt and kissed his mouth and then starting sucking lightly on his neck.

John nodded. "Me too . . .it feels good being with you." He pushed his hand into Sherlock's shirt and touched his skin.

Sherlock exhaled at the touch -- it'd been a long time since he'd felt another person's skin on his. He reached under John's shirt and grabbed at his back.

John didn't know how far Sherlock wanted to go, or even how far he wanted to go himself, but it felt too good to stop. He unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt to look, to touch more as they kissed.

Sherlock's mind felt hesitant, but the rest of him didn't so he let John undo his shirt as he continued to kiss him.

"Sherlock," John murmured softly, giving him a moment to stop if he wanted to. John's fingers toyed with the button on Sherlock's trousers, silently asking permission.

Sherlock whispered, "Do you want to touch me?"

John nodded. "Very much," he murmured. He popped the button but waited for Sherlock's reaction.

"Okay," Sherlock said. "It only seems fair . . . I mean, I've already seen you . . . you should see me so we're equal."

John looked up to meet his gaze. "Don't think like that. Do you want me to see?" he asked, but his fingers had tugged the zipper down already. He forced his hands to wait.

"I want you to," Sherlock said. "John, I don't know always understand these things but I will never share something of myself unless I want to." He kissed him again. "I want to."

John kissed him again, longer, before pushing his trousers and pants down together. He breathed out hard when he saw Sherlock. John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's cock and stroked slowly, just feeling every inch under his fingers.

"Fuck," Sherlock exhaled. He hadn't been sure this would happen but he was glad it was. "God," he moaned softly. "That feels good." He reached down and palmed John through his jeans.

"You feel fantastic," John murmured, moaning at the touch. But instead of giving Sherlock access he just stroked a bit faster, watching his hand move, his thumb teasing the tip. He was focused.

"Keep going," Sherlock moaned. "Please . . ." He bucked his hips against John's hand. "It's been so long . . ."

"I'm not stopping," John promised, kissing along Sherlock's jaw and down to his neck, sucking to leave a mark there. His hand moved faster still, desperate to give Sherlock what he needed. 

"I'm . . . going to…" Sherlock called loudly before coming in John's hand. His heart was pounding, his breath ragged and he dropped his head against John's, trying to collect himself. "That felt good . . . thank you. . ."

John watched as Sherlock came, not only in his hand but on his shirt too. He didn't care. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen -- Sherlock's handsome face slackening to pleasure. He kissed Sherlock's lips softly. "Help me now, please . . ." he murmured, taking his hand away slowly. 

Sherlock reached down, opening his trousers and sliding his hand in. He started a strong, quick stroke. "I want to make you feel that good," he whispered in John's ear. "God, you made me feel good. . ." 

John moaned and arched into Sherlock, his head tipping to get closer to Sherlock and his voice. "Yes . . . please, yes."

"I've wanted this since we first met . . . I know it's more than that, but it's this as well . . . please . . ." Sherlock moaned again. This was so sexy, seeing John like this, hearing his noises.

John remembered the first night when he made it seem like he's been jerking Sherlock off, and now he really had. The thought made his chuckle softly and a moan spilled out louder. And then he leaned up and kissed Sherlock hard as he came, his hips jerking lightly under Sherlock as he tried to keep thrusting into his hand. 

Sherlock stroked John through his orgasm and then dropped his head down again. His breath was still ragged, panting alongside John. "God," he said. "That was . . . unexpected but fucking good." He lifted his head and smiled a little, hoping everything was okay.

John grinned back before laughing softly, leaning in to kiss Sherlock again and again. "Fucking brilliant," he agreed. 

"We're . . . a bit of a mess," Sherlock laughed. He pulled himself back and got up and got some tissue. "I hope that was okay . .. I didn't expect it, but I'm glad."

John nodded, taking the tissues to clean what he could. "Yeah, it was okay," he smiled. "I didn't expect it either when I first came over, but I am glad as well."

Sherlock buttoned his trousers and shirt and sat down. "Was it only okay?" he asked quietly.

"What?" John asked, thrown by his tone. "I -- that's the word you used, too," he said. "You know it was amazing . . . I thought it was, anyways."

"It was," Sherlock said, moving a little closer and leaning against John. "I . . . it's been a long time since I did that with anyone. But I'm glad it was you."

John sighed, relieved that he hadn't messed everything up. "It was incredible, Sherlock. You were incredible."

"I think you were," Sherlock said smiling a bit stupidly. But at the moment, he didn't even care. "Do you have to go? Can you stay longer . . . I don't want you to go right away."

"I don't want to go yet," John said. "My tea's gone cold again -- I can't get a decent cup around here," he teased. He kissed the top of Sherlock's head. 

Sherlock got up and grabbed the mugs, carrying them into the kitchen. He filled the kettle and turned it on. "What are your plans for tomorrow?" he asked. 

"I'm off again so I don't really have any," he said. "Sometimes I work out in the morning but that's all. What about you?" John realised that if Sherlock had nothing as well, technically he could sleep here, but the thought surprised him. They hardly knew each other, and he was embarrassed to ask. 

"No, I don't have any thing planned. . ." Sherlock thought about just suggesting that John stay the night, but he was worried that was too fast, too weird, and might just remind him how awkward Sherlock was. "Well . . . do you want to watch a film or something?"  
  
"Yeah sure," John said. No plans, but also no invite. It was probably best.

"There's some over on the shelf if you want to pick one," Sherlock said. He got the tray and put two mugs on it and then remembered the snacks he'd bought. He set a bag of crisps, some biscuits, some crackers and some sweets on the tray and carried it over. "Here's some snacks . . . I didn't know what you might like."

John picked a Bond movie and smiled at the tray. "You're very sweet, it seems."

"I don't know about that . . ." Sherlock said. He curled up on the sofa and then got back up and grabbed a blanket. "I know I keep the flat cold," he said. "We can use this if you want."

John nodded even though he was pretty comfortable. He wanted to cuddle under the blanket with Sherlock, another thought that surprised him. "I think you are."

"You think I'm what?" Sherlock said. "Sweet?" He blushed a bit. "Shut up." He pushed John's arm lightly.

John laughed softly and caught his arm, tugging him close so they could cuddle. "You are."

"A sweet person wouldn't do this," Sherlock said, pushing John back and crawling over him to pin him against the sofa.

John gasped softly in surprise before smiling. "You can be sweet and sexy," he said.

"That's too confusing, I think," Sherlock said, pulling back, but not getting off of him. Instead he kind of shifted to his side. "This okay? Can you see the telly all right?" He leaned down and pulled the blanket over them.

"Yeah, it's good," John said, wrapping his at arm around Sherlock's waist.

Sherlock snuggled down a little bit. "A few days ago we didn't even know each other," he said randomly.

"Funny how that works," he smiled. "Good thing your friend was born."

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "Though maybe we would have met anyway, in a different way." He couldn't really imagine how, but if he was right that John had some meaning in his life, he really did believe the universe would have crossed their paths in any way necessary.

"Maybe," he agreed. He curled his fingers to pet Sherlock lightly, comfortable and content.

Sherlock watched the movie for a little while but it wasn't very interesting. He fiddled a bit with John's arm and then for no real reason said, "I've never had anyone over to the flat before."

John glanced down at Sherlock and the weight of what was happening here became more obvious. "Really?" he asked, trying not to think too hard about what that meant. "I've never gone inside anyone's flat on the first date." He knew it technically wasn't the same but maybe it was a little given their previous activity.

"Does this mean that if we see each other tomorrow, it'll be our second date?" Sherlock asked.

John smiled at the thought. "Yeah, it would," he said.

"Hmmm," Sherlock said, not saying anything else.

They watched the end of the film. Well, Sherlock's head was turned towards the television and his eyes were open, but in truth he was really just thinking about the unusual events that had taken place in his life over the last few days.

When the film finished, he said, "John, are you asleep? It's almost two in the morning."

"Hmm?" John's head snapped up. He didn't remember falling asleep and even now his head was drooping a bit already. "Yeah," he said without really hearing the question.

"Shh," Sherlock said, shifting a little to get up. "You can stay here." He pulled the blanket around John and then got up to shut off the lights.

John tugged the blanket close and curled up on the sofa, asleep before he could realise what exactly was happening. He slept soundly and comfortably.

Sherlock curled up on his chair, looking over at John. He looked quite handsome and peaceful as he slept. He'd never really seen someone else sleep, in person. He'd been with people before, long ago, but had never slept by them. He tried to get comfortable and eventually closed his eyes.


	7. The Next Morning

When John woke up in the morning he knew something was different. There was no alarm, he wasn't in a bed, and he wasn't even in his own home. He sat up and his eyes fell on Sherlock, curled up in an armchair across the room. John smiled softly as the night came back to him. "Sherlock?" he whispered. 

Sherlock opened his eyes and saw John. In his flat. He'd slept over. "Morning," he said, slowly untangling himself. He stretched and rubbed his neck. "You stayed. . . because it was so late and all. That okay?"

"You moved away," John smiled softly. He was still lying on the sofa and he couldn't figure out why he liked it more than his own bed.

"I wasn't sure . . ." Sherlock said. "So I thought I'd sleep over here." He rubbed his neck again. It was stiff and a bit painful. "Tea?" he asked as he stood and moved to the kitchen. Then he turned and added, "Or do you want to leave straight away?"

John sat up and stretched. "If you're sore I could give you a massage," he offered. He felt bad that Sherlock hadn't gone to bed. "I wouldn't have minded if you had gone to bed."

"I wanted to stay by you," Sherlock said. He put the kettle on. "Um, I wouldn't mind a massage, though. I never had one but I'd like to try." He poured the tea. "Um, I don't know if this is . . . I mean, we could go into my room, if you want."

"We can go to your room. The bed will be easier, I'm sure. Um . . . nothing has to happen. I mean, I'm not banning it but I'm not expecting it --" John stopped talking and covered his face. "Sorry, pretend I didn't say anything." 

"Does stuff usually happen during massages? I mean, I thought you were going to rub my neck," Sherlock said awkwardly. Then he laughed. "God, let's just stop talking. I might fall asleep once I'm on the bed anyway so you can do whatever you want then." He carried the mugs into the room, setting them down on the nightstand. "What do I do? Lay down or what?"

"Yeah, lie on your stomach," John said.

Sherlock lay on his belly on the bed. It felt more comfortable than it ever had after the uncomfortable night in the chair. However, he didn't want to sleep -- he wanted John to touch him.

John carefully climbed over Sherlock and straddled his hips. He placed his hands high on Sherlock's back and started massaging, kneading with his fingers close to his neck. 

"Careful," Sherlock said. He tried to let his body relax a bit. "Actually . . . that's quite nice."

"You'll feel so good," he said. "I'm sure that chair was awful to sleep in." John kneaded a bit lower on his shoulders.

"I liked watching you sleep," Sherlock said softly. "I mean, in a nice way. Not a creepy way, I promise." He smiled a little against the pillow.

John chuckled softly. "I know what you mean," he said. 

"We can get breakfast or something," Sherlock mumbled. He didn't really want to, but he didn't want John to leave yet. This felt nice, comfortable, relaxing -- words that rarely described Sherlock in the presence of another person. He was going to say something else but only a little sound came out. He felt a bit embarrassed and said, "That feels good," to try to cover.

John smiled and kneaded the same spot. "Breakfast sounds great," he agreed. 

Sherlock didn't say anything. He was too focused on the way his body was relaxing to John's touch. After a few moments, he asked, "Do you want me to do this to you next?"

"You don't have to," John murmured, sliding his hands down Sherlock's sides and massaging his lower back.

"But it's so nice . . . I feel like I should do something nice for you," Sherlock said.

"You let me stay when I was sleepy," John said. 

"I guess," Sherlock said. "But that was kind of for my benefit too." He turned his head to the side to try to see John. "I've never had anyone stay over and I wanted to see what it was like."

John leaned to catch his eye. "Was it everything you hoped?" he smiled. 

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "I would have liked to have been by you, I guess."  
  
"Well, maybe next time," he said softly as his hands kept moving. 

Sherlock smiled to himself a bit. That seemed like a good sign. He let John keep rubbing him -- he kind of never wanted him to stop -- but that didn't seem fair. Eventually he kind of shifted himself and pulled John so they were lying next to each other on the bed. "Thanks," he said. "That really felt nice."

John smiled. Sherlock's bed was even more comfortable than the sofa. "No problem," he said. 

"What should we do now?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged. "I was going to go to the shop at some point, do you want to do that with me? And then maybe you could show me the lab?"

"Yeah, okay," Sherlock said. "But . . should we stay here for a few minutes?" He turned his body towards John's more and put his hand on John's hip.

John licked his lips lightly as his body heated with understanding. "A few more minutes wouldn't hurt."

Sherlock leaned in and kissed John softly. He slid his body a little closer. "This is nice," he said. "I mean, more comfortable, lying down properly on a bed."

John nodded. "It is nice. Your bed in comfortable," he said before kissing Sherlock again.

"You make me comfortable," Sherlock said. "Well, more comfortable than I usually am. I wonder if I'll ever understand why." He dropped his head and kissed John's neck.

"You're smart, you'll figure it out," John murmured. His own hand was moving around Sherlock's side and up his front, grazing over a nipple before teasing it softly. 

"That tickles," Sherlock said, but didn't shift his body to move away. He dropped his hand and slid it under John's shirt to touch him in the same way.

John pushed a bit harder, pinching lightly and rolling it between his fingers. "Now?" he asked, his voice husky. 

Sherlock leaned in to answer with a rough kiss. He squeezed John's nipple as he shifted his hips closer.

John returned the kiss hungrily, scooting close so his hips crashed into Sherlock's. He chuckled and rolled them more smoothly. 

Sherlock pushed John onto his back and crawled over him. "Should we keep going again?" he said, continuing to kiss and move against him.

"Yes," he nodded, leaning up to kiss him again, rocking his hips up for friction. 

This time Sherlock felt a bit more confident. "Take off your shirt," he said, helping John lift his t-shirt over his head. He leaned down over John's chest, covering it in kisses, before sucking a nipple into his mouth and nuzzling it lightly. He slid a hand down to John's waistband, working open the button and zipper, before sliding it in and wrapping his fingers around John's cock.

John moaned and paused for a moment to enjoy the feel of Sherlock's hand. "You too," he murmured, pulling Sherlock's shirt up and meeting his gaze so he could help take it off completely. 

"John," Sherlock exhaled. He kept putting kisses wherever he could reach as he started a slow stroke on his cock.

"Together," John said, his hands working even faster. He opened Sherlock's trousers and pushed them to the middle of his thighs, followed by his pants. John grabbed the both of them together and stroked. "Together," he said again.  

Sherlock dropped his mouth to John's and kissed him hard as he started moving his hand faster. He was filled with urgency, bucking against John's hand, knowing that it wouldn't take him long. "Please. . . " he mumbled.

John moved his hand to match Sherlock's, their cocks sliding together as they moved. "Yes," he moaned softly.

Even the sound of John's voice was turning Sherlock on, and a few moments later, he was coming against their bellies, letting out a small moan before inhaling deeply as if he'd momentarily forgotten how to breath.

John couldn't help pausing to watch Sherlock. He was gorgeous when he was letting go like that. John came soon after him, closing his own eyes as his mouth hung open in pleasure. 

Sherlock stayed close and then he slumped over to the side of John. He reached for some tissues, handing a few over, and then cleaning himself up a bit. He was suddenly exhausted. "I don't want you to think, I'm like a sex maniac or anything," he said quietly. "It's just . . . I really like doing that stuff with you." He threw the tissues on the floor and pulled back the covers to get underneath.

John chuckled softly and, before he could think too much about it, crawled under the covers too. "I'm not a sex maniac either," he said. "I like doing these things with you too." 

"Good," Sherlock said. He kind of moved a little closer. "Maybe we could rest before we go out and do your ideas. I do want to but I'm a bit tired." He closed his eyes.

"Yeah, that's okay," he nodded. He watched Sherlock's face, tracing every inch with his eyes. 

"John," Sherlock said, still keeping his eyes closed. "I really like you. I know we're still just getting to know each other, but . . . everything I've found out, I like. I like it all."  
  
John watched Sherlock's mouth as he talked, wondering how he had kissed those lovely full lips and yet he wanted to taste them again and again. "I really like you too, Sherlock." John moved his eyes along Sherlock's jaw, up to find his closed eyes. He imagined the colour so he wouldn't make Sherlock open them while he was trying to rest. "I really like you a lot, even though we're still learning."

Sherlock smiled. "I won't sleep long, I promise," he said drowsily.

John nodded, knowing Sherlock couldn't see him. He didn't want to speak and pull him back. While Sherlock slept John got up and used the bathroom, freshening up as best as he could. When he went to the kitchen he made himself a small breakfast of just toast and some fruit before going back to the bed and lying down carefully. He closed his own eyes, not sleeping but resting. 

Sherlock stirred at the movement and eventually woke up. "Hey," he said softly. "You're still here."

"I hope that's okay," John said, smiling softly at Sherlock. 

"I was worried you'd leave," Sherlock said. "It was kind of impolite for me to go to sleep when you want to go out." He pushed himself up and tried to wake up properly. His neck was still a little sore from the night, but it was definitely better. "We can get going in a few minutes."

"We have all day. I didn't mind that you slept for a bit," John said, sitting up as well.

"Good," Sherlock said. "I don't do that much physical activity, I guess. I mean, well, I definitely don't do _that_ but I don't really exercise or whatever, and I guess you just wore me out." He smiled even though he felt a bit embarrassed. "Do you mind if I shower before we leave?" He stretched a little. "You can too if you want."

John laughed softly and grinned at Sherlock as he finished talking. "I freshened up a bit, I don't really have a change of clothes for the shower. I don't mind if you go."

"All right," Sherlock said, glancing over. "I thought you looked . . . more fresh." He gave him a quick kiss, grabbed some clean clothes and rushed to the shower. When he was ready, they headed out.


	8. Death And Other Bad Things

"Let's go to the lab first because when I get my groceries I want to take them home. You're welcome to come along there as well," John said.

"Yeah, okay," Sherlock said. He was a little overwhelmed by things -- there was a part of him that thought he might follow John wherever he went for the rest of his life. But that feeling was unusual and he knew it might change and also knew it was probably best to keep it to himself for now. They started walking and when they bumped hands, Sherlock just grabbed onto John's as they continued down the street.

John smiled when Sherlock grabbed his hand, squeezing it lightly as they walked.

When they got to the hospital, Sherlock led them up to the lab. He showed John around, explaining some of the experiments that he'd worked on there. "I don't really know many of the doctors, but maybe I can introduce you, you know, if it'd help in anyway."

"That's okay. They will ask what I'm doing now and, while I appreciate the money it makes for me, I don't want to tell them about it. Thanks though."

Sherlock wasn't sure what John meant -- at first, he assumed John meant they'd question why he was with Sherlock. Then he figured it out. "Well, that won't matter anymore," he said. "Want to go to the morgue?"  
  
John looked to Sherlock but then the question of the morgue pulled his interest. "Are we allowed to?"

"Yeah, I know the girl --" Sherlock started to explain but then realised Molly might recognise John. Would he have to explain and what would be the explanation? "Um, we don't have to if you don't want to . . ."

"I want to go," John assured him. "If we won't get in trouble, I think it'll be interesting."

Sherlock looked at John's face -- he could tell he did really want to go and Sherlock wanted to do whatever he could to make John happy. He led them down. When he walked through the door, Molly smiled to greet him.

"I'm surprised you waited this long," she said. And then she noticed he wasn't alone.

Sherlock said, "Yeah, sorry, I've been busy. Um, this is John." He motioned to John and watched her face, waiting for that moment when she remembered.

John smiled and lifted his hand in a small wave. Molly looked at him and then did a double take. Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed lightly. "Sherlock I --" she said. "Um, come look at this. Over here." And she hurried off.

John smiled a bit wider and nudged Sherlock. "I'll wait here."

Sherlock moved over towards Molly.

"Did you bring him here to embarrass me?" she asked him.

"What?" Sherlock asked, not expecting that at all. "No, Molly, don't be ridiculous."  
  
"Then why is he here?"

"Because," Sherlock said, not entirely sure what to say. "Because we're friends now."  
  
She looked him over. "You are friends with a stripper you met two days ago?" She looked him over, trying to determine if this was some joke. "I mean, you don't have friends, and suddenly . . . a stripper?"

"Stop saying that," Sherlock said quietly, glancing over at John. "He's a person. I didn't expect you to be judgmental. . ."

Her face softened. Sherlock was serious. "I'm sorry. You know I'm not judgmental, I'm just ... surprised." She tapped his arm lightly. "I'm glad. So…you're just friends now."  
  
She didn't say it like a question, but Sherlock knew it was one and also knew what she was trying to find out.

"Show us a corpse," Sherlock said a little more loudly, moving back towards John. "John's going to be a doctor and he wants to make sure he can identify a dead person, in case he's ever called upon to do so." He looked over at John and smiled widely.

"Yes, I always have trouble telling the difference," he said as he grinned back.

Molly moved over to one of the drawers. "Just got him today," she said. "He drowned." She unzipped the bag and let them see.

Sherlock looked closely at the man. About fifty, too fat, unshaven but still wearing a business suit. "Suicide?' he asked her.

John moved closer and pointed to the man's hands. "His knuckles show signs of arthritis. He probably found it painful to try and move through the water or grip the side of the pool," he said.

Molly gazed at him for a moment before nodding. "Yes, they said he was close to the side."

Sherlock was watching John, too. "Interesting," he said, but didn't say more for a few moments. "Well, thanks, Molly," he said and turned to leave.

"Oh, that's all?' she asked. 

John looked at the body a bit longer before turning to follow Sherlock. "Thanks for letting me take a look," he said to Molly, smiling at her again. 

She blushed and nodded. "Anytime," she said. 

Sherlock led John out and they walked to the lift in silence. Once they got on, Sherlock said, "Where to next?"

"Shop and then my place," John said. "That was really cool, by the way. Your friend seemed a bit thrown off," he added, smiling lightly. 

"Well," Sherlock said, looking over at John to try to figure out if he recognised her. "Well, you know she was the one, you know, whose birthday it was."

"I know," John smiled. "Well, I knew she was at the table. She was the one that encouraged you to let me pretend to get you off," he grinned. 

"Yes, well, the less we talk about all that the better, I think," Sherlock said.

John made a face at him but didn't press the subject. He was glad that his job wasn't a constant battle between them anymore. They took a cab to the shop near John's flat and he carried the basket it, filling it with the things written on a small list he pulled out of his wallet. "Do you need anything?" John asked. 

"No, I don't think so," Sherlock said, walking besides John and noting the things that he was choosing. "I think I'm fine for everything."

"Okay," John said, moving through the shop for the last few things. He went to the front and paid for it all, agreeing when Sherlock wanted to help carry something but only giving him a couple of the bags. "My place isn't far, we can walk from here."

Sherlock carried the bags and followed John. He was quite keen to see John's place, see how he lived.

"So it's a bit small," John said as they went inside. He took the bags to the kitchen and started putting things away.

Sherlock didn't say anything but just tried to look around, taking in as many details as he could. It was pretty simple and tidy, but also looked quite comfortable. It matched John really. He followed into the kitchen and set the bags on the table. "I'll let you sort these," he said. "Do you want me to put the kettle on?"  
  
"Sure," John said, showing him where everything was as he moved around the kitchen to put everything away.

Sherlock clicked on the kettle and dropped the tea bags into two mugs. He watched John moving around. "I like your place. It's nice," he said kind of stupidly.

John smiled at him. "Thanks."

Sherlock turned and poured the water into the mugs. He moved over to the fridge to get the milk and noticed a schedule on the front. It looked like it must be John's work schedule and it said he was working tonight. He grabbed the milk and moved back, pouring it into the mugs. He took them to the table and sat down. He took a sip. Then he said, "So do you want to go get dinner later?"

"We can," John said. "I just have to be home by nine because I work tonight."

"Right, but -- you don't have to go in, do you? I mean, I'll pay for dinner so you don't need the money . . ."

John's brow furrowed. "I do have to go in because it's my job. Besides, it's my turn to get dinner," he said.

"But you don't need that job, John," Sherlock said, trying to get things clear in his head. "Because . . . you know, because of me…"

John shook his head. "I'm your boyfriend. What does that have to do with my job?" he asked.

Sherlock tried to let the word into his head for a moment: boyfriend. He'd never been anyone's boyfriend. Then he came back to the moment and, without thinking, he just started talking. "Well, because you don't need those people, you know, looking at you all the time because you have me and besides my family . . . I mean, I've got money, I can pay for everything so you don't need to do that anymore . . ."

John flushed lightly. "So you're going to pay me to be with you? Does that include the sex as well or will I get extra for that?" he asked, moving around the kitchen more angrily. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

"No, I didn't mean that," Sherlock said, trying to make his brain work right. "I mean, you won't need the money because you won't have to pay for anything." He knew it sounded too easy but he wanted it to make sense -- if he just kept saying it, it had to make sense. "I can pay for things. . . I can help . . ."

John shook his head. "No! Don't you understand? I'm not going to take your money, I am going to earn it myself. Besides I'm saving for school."

"Well, let me get you another job, a better job, maybe Molly could . . ." Sherlock wanted his voice to be confident but he knew what he was saying was kind of stupid. Molly was just a student as well, she couldn't create a job for John. But how could John keep doing the stripping? He could try to say it was just a job, that it meant nothing. But Sherlock had seen it with his own eyes -- how could John want to keep doing it? 

"Okay, fine," Sherlock said. "Okay, well, I mean…we hardly know each other anyway . . . I don't know what I was thinking. Sorry." He stood up from the chair. "I think I've got to get going actually . . . I'll talk to you later or something . . ." He turned towards the door.

"Right," John said, shaking his head at the counter. So this was it then. "I guess I'll see you later."

Sherlock left and starting walking home. He felt a bit like crying, but did his best to stop it from actually happening. At least until he got back to the flat. He went in and flopped down on the bed, which only made him remember what had occurred there earlier. How had this happened in Sherlock's life? He hadn't wanted to be someone's boyfriend -- he hadn't gone out looking for that. But now he was. And, because of pure chance, he was trapped in this situation. He felt like he wanted to be with John all the time and in any other circumstance he probably could be. But no, Sherlock had to get a boyfriend who spent his nights flirting with other people, dancing around them, touching them . . . It just didn't seem fair.

John slammed his hands on the table and took a shaky breath. He had been foolish to think that his job wouldn't matter. But Sherlock had been foolish to think that he could buy John like that. He put the rest of the groceries away and went to lay down, angry and sad. He had liked Sherlock a lot, more than anyone before. He checked his account and saw how much money he had saved already. Could he get by on a normal job? Not as well, he knew. But if it meant keeping Sherlock, maybe he would take the cut. Or was that stupid -- Sherlock was right, they didn't know each other that well. He rubbed his face hard and wished he had said something before Sherlock left. He drifted off into dreams about losing Sherlock all over London, always out of reach. He got up and headed into work, his mind distracted.

After a while Sherlock had dragged himself from bed and made a cup of tea. He couldn't really think clearly so he didn't bother trying to work, hoping he could just lose himself in some ridiculous television show. But that didn't happen -- it was all so stupid and besides, being on the sofa reminded him of John again. He tried taking a hot bath, which helped a bit, and then he went back into the bedroom, keeping the lights off, and trying to escape to his mind palace.

John got dressed as the cop tonight and went out on the stage as distracted as ever. He tried to put his frustrations into the dance and perhaps it worked because the crowd went really wild. When he was done he sat in the back, still in costume, holding the wad of money. He couldn't stop thinking about Sherlock. A part of him had thought he was going to show up again.

Not wanting to go home to his own thoughts he stayed for a second dance. It wasn't as good as the first one but he didn't care. He changed, collected all of his things and headed home. Despite Sherlock never staying over at his it still felt too empty. He went to bed and stared at the ceiling, his phone on his belly.

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, all he saw was black and he was momentarily confused. Until he remembered what was happening and why he had run away in his head in the first place. He reached for his phone and saw that it was two in the morning. It had already happened -- John had gone to work. He wondered who John had flirted with, whose lap he had crawled onto. It even flashed in his mind that perhaps John had gone home with someone -- now that Sherlock had seen his flat, he could picture John being there with someone else and it made his heart hurt.

He didn't think John would really do that. Sherlock wasn't stupid -- he had trusted John with some of his world, some very private things. Sherlock would not have done that if John wasn't worthy of the trust. But still . . . the idea of it all made Sherlock feel sad and jealous and then sad again. He didn't want John to be like that around other people. Those things should be between them only.

He looked at his phone again and then opened John's last text. He hit reply.

_I miss you. SH_

John grabbed the phone immediately and licked his lips, turning to the side.

_I miss you too. -JW_

Sherlock rolled over in bed. That was something at least. He tried to go to sleep with his memories of last night.

John waited for a reply but nothing came. He clutched the phone close and eventually he drifted off with it in his hands, the screen dark.


	9. Sherlock Has To Do Something

When Sherlock woke up, he was still holding his phone. He wanted to see John today, but didn't know if he was ready to face it all. He looked at his clock. It was late afternoon. Part of him was grateful, but he was also sad that something just a day ago that made him actually feel happy, was now making him wish his day away.

He took a shower and got dressed, trying to pretend it was just a normal day. Last week, his world was normal -- he knew what every day would be like. He'd make today like one of those days. He took a cup of tea to his desk and checked his email, trying to focus on that.

John slept late into the day, waking up and heading to the bank like he always did. Only this time he moved the money into a savings account that accumulated interest. It would be just pennies a year but it was better than nothing. He picked up lunch on the way home and kept his phone close. He composed a hundred messages that he never sent, never knowing what to say. When he got ready to leave for work he walked all the way there, deluded with the idea that he'd see Sherlock along the way even though he didn't have any reason to be in this area.

Sherlock did pretty well, distracting himself with reading and planning out a few experiments. But eventually he couldn't ignore his heart anymore. He picked up his phone.

_Do you have to work tonight? SH_

John bit his lip and sighed softly.

_Yes, I go on in twenty minutes. -JW_

Sherlock's stomach ached.

_I'm sorry it upsets me. I still miss you. SH_

_I'm sorry as well. I miss you too. If it helps, I will think about you the whole time. -JW_

Then he quickly sent another.

_I'm thinking about you all the time, really. -JW_

John put the phone away with his things and went to get dressed quickly. He wasn't going to lie about missing Sherlock even though he knew the likelihood of things working out between them was close to zero. 

Sherlock couldn't decide if the texts made things better or not. He turned off all the lights and went into his bedroom. In the dark, he tried not to think. But it didn't really work. He tossed and turned and eventually gave up. A few hours later he got back up and sat down with a cup of tea.

He did miss John. He did want to see him.

He grabbed his coat and headed over to the club. Where it all had started. But he couldn't bring himself to go in -- he already had the picture of all that went on in there in his head, he didn't need to see any of it again. He didn't want to see any of it again. He just wanted to see John. He could hear music and lit a cigarette, leaning up against the wall to wait.

John did two dances again, avoiding going into the crowd and staying up on the stage. He didn't make as much as he normally did, but he couldn't make himself flirt with anyone for extra money. He just wanted to flirt with Sherlock now. When he was done he changed quickly, put away his money, and moved to leave. He paused at the bar for his bottle of water and then left, not even saying goodbye to Greg. He would call him tomorrow and explain.

Sherlock had smoked three cigarettes and was now wishing he'd brought a bottle of water with him. Maybe this had been a stupid idea? Then the club's door opened and John came out, his bag over his shoulder.

"John," Sherlock called.

John stopped and turned around, his head tilted in confusion. "Sherlock," he said, taking a step closer. "I -- were you inside? I didn't see you."

"I couldn't . . . I didn't want to see it but I wanted to see you," Sherlock said. He felt so stupid at this point.

"Oh." John rubbed the back of his neck and looked up at Sherlock. "I wanted to see you too, I'm glad you're here."

"I -- can I walk you home?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "Okay," he said, turning when Sherlock caught up with him. "How are you?"

"Okay," Sherlock answered. "A bit confused and sad as well, I admit."

"Me too," John admitted, looking up at him.

"I don't . . . I want to still be with you, John, I want to be your boyfriend, like you said," Sherlock confessed. "But I'm -- I'm too jealous and I don't think I can stop that feeling." 

John stopped walking and looked up at Sherlock properly. "I want you to be your boyfriend too. I wish I could make you see that it's just a job. I don't feel anything for anyone there."

"I believe you," Sherlock said. "But I feel something about them . . . I hate them."

John bit his lip. "What if you came with me? And I could dance and…and if I have to go into the audience I will come to you only?"

Sherlock tried to picture that. He had liked when John had given him that kind of attention -- he'd like it before he even gotten to know John. "Maybe," he said. "Let me think about it." He reached out and grabbed John's hand as they walked.

"Okay," John said as they started walking again. He squeezed Sherlock's hand lightly. "I really did miss you."

"Last week we didn't even know each other, but today, well, I just hated not being around you," Sherlock said. It was a bit chilly and he really wanted to get inside and get close to John again.

"I know what you mean. It's strange, but I just didn't like being away from you." And he knew it was crazy because they didn't know each other for very long, but like Sherlock had said at the beginning, something was different and he wanted to figure out what it was.

Sherlock squeezed John's hand. Then they were at John's door so he held his bag for him while John unlocked the door. It was so late, he wondered if John would allow him to stay. He hoped he would.

John turned and took his bag from Sherlock. "Want to come in? It's late."

"I'd like to," Sherlock said. "But if you'd rather I leave, I will . . ."  
  
John shook his head. "I want you to stay," he said.

"Okay," Sherlock said. He stepped in. "What do you usually do when you get home from work?" he stood around a bit stupidly.

"Nothing really. A shower and then I just watch telly to relax and go to bed," he said. "I'm usually sleepy."

"I don't want to keep you up . . ." Sherlock's voice trailed off.

"So go to sleep with me," John offered quietly.

Sherlock smiled. "If you're sure," he said, reaching over and holding onto John's hand.

John nodded, squeezing his hand again. "Do you want tea?" He moved into the kitchen and turned on the kettle.

"Yeah," Sherlock said, following him in. He watched him for a moment and then when John brought the tea over, he said, "Are you still glad we met?"

"Yeah I am," John said, leaning on the counter and sipping his tea. "Are you?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, a bit hesitantly. "I'm glad for the good things, but I'm worried about the other things . . . I'm not used to . . . caring, I guess, and I'm worried I can't handle it." It didn't sound great, he realised, but it was totally true.

John watched him for a long moment. "Do you want to give up?" he asked softly.

"No," Sherlock said quickly. "I want to fix it . . . I just don't know how."

John took a deep breath. "I want to fix it as well, so that's a good sign. As long as we don't give up, we can make it work," he said. They could try Sherlock coming to the club and if that didn't work . . . they'd try something else. Looking at Sherlock in his kitchen, sipping tea like he lived here, only reinforced that John didn't want to lose him. 

"Are you sure about my sleeping here?" Sherlock asked. "I mean . . . I really want to."

"I really want you too as well," he said. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable but I would like it if you stayed."

Sherlock smiled and finished his tea. He used the bathroom and then waited for John to do the same.

John took a quick shower, brushed his teeth and came out to meet Sherlock in his room. "There's no way my pajamas will fit you but if you want a t-shirt I can give you one. I don't mind if you stay in your pants," he added. 

"I'm okay," Sherlock said. He took off his shirt and trousers, leaving on his t-shirt and boxers. He climbed into the bed. "I'm nervous," he admitted. "I've never done this . . . the other night on the chair was as close as I've ever come to sleeping with someone." He stared down at his hands.

"You slept with me a couple times," John said. "Little cat naps but...it'll be okay." John lay down and scoot close to him. "Can I cuddle with you?" he asked quietly. 

"I was hoping you would," Sherlock said, smiling and moving to lie down. He slid over so they were even closer.

John closed the space between them and wrapped his arm around Sherlock. He took a deep breath and let it out a bit shakily. He had missed Sherlock a lot more than he had realised. His arm tightened a bit more to hold him close. 

Sherlock pressed his face against John's chest. It felt good being with him again. He held onto him tightly.

John closed his eyes and just breathed Sherlock in, over and over until his breathing deepened and steadied with sleep.

Sherlock listened to their breathing changing. He thought about where he was, what he was doing -- he still didn't know precisely why any of this was occurring, but he was glad at the moment. He felt comfortable. He felt himself drifting into sleep.


	10. A New Plan

John had a strange dream about Sherlock dancing on stage and John trying to stop him. Sherlock kept saying he needed to do it to make John happy. John kept trying to tell him he didn't need to, but the music was too loud. He woke up with a sharp gasp and stared at Sherlock sleeping beside him. He didn't know what to do. He kissed Sherlock's forehead softly and tried to fall asleep again.

Sherlock opened his eyes after John kissed him, remembering where he was. He didn't even let himself think or worry, but instead rolled over, moving a bit closer to John as they both fell back to sleep.

John wrapped his arm around Sherlock's middle again as he dozed off again. This time he didn't remember any dreams and he slept soundly with his head on Sherlock's neck. 

When Sherlock woke up again, he leaned up and put a soft kiss on John's mouth. "Sorry," he whispered when John opened his eyes. "I hope you don't mind I did that."  
  
John shook his head. "I don't mind. Did you sleep okay?"

"I did," Sherlock said. "It felt nice to be by you." He stretched a little. John's bed wasn't quite as comfortable as his own, but being able to sleep next to him definitely made up for any lumps in the mattress.

"It did," John agreed. "So . . . are you coming to work with me tonight?" he asked. He hated to bring it up, but they couldn't ignore the situation. Not if they were going to find a real solution. 

"So tell me again -- it'll be like that first night . . . just me and you?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "I will come off stage and dance for you. And if the girls try to pull me, I will shake my head and make up some excuse. I'll get back on stage and finish and then we can go."

"What about if we just didn't let anyone else in?" Sherlock said. He wasn't entirely convinced it would work, but he'd try.

John raised his brows and shook his head. "You know that's not possible," he said. "Would it be easier if you didn't go at all? I can give you my word I won't come off the stage."

"I don't know . . . it feels worse, you know, my imagination tricking me into thinking things that upset me," Sherlock said. "I'll try coming . . . but I'm still worried. I'm sorry." He turned over and cuddled John a bit.

"I don't know what else to do," he said softly, rubbing Sherlock's back. 

"We'll try it," Sherlock said. "Do you want to get breakfast or lunch or something?" he asked.

"I'll make something for us," he said, stretching before getting out of bed. He went to the bathroom first before heading for the kitchen. 

Sherlock got dressed and followed John to the kitchen. "I'll take tea," he said. "But I probably won't eat much food."  
  
John smiled and passed him the mug. "I won't make you much," he said. He cooked up egg sandwiches, one for Sherlock and two for himself. He sat at the table and ate with him, discussing the plan for the day. Sherlock would go home and try to get some work done and John would go to the bank and get ready for work. "I'll meet you here and we can walk together, okay?"

"Sounds good," Sherlock said. He headed home, taking a shower as soon as he got in and then lying down on the bed. He slept a little and then got up to do some work. He knew he should probably eat something, but he was feeling quite nervous about tonight. He tried to watch television for a while, and ended up taking a bath, which helped relax him a bit.

John went to the bank after Sherlock left and deposited his money, going straight back to the flat afterwards since he'd had such a late breakfast. He took a long shower and then made his bed, taking a bit longer than usual as he touched the side Sherlock had been on more than he needed to. Afterwards he read while he waited for the time to pass, texting Sherlock as he started to get dressed. 

Sherlock eventually got dressed and headed over to John's. He was anxious -- maybe a little excited -- but mostly anxious. He knocked on the door.

John grabbed his coat and pulled the door open, leaning up to kiss Sherlock. "Hello," he smiled. He closed the door and headed out with Sherlock. 

"I feel weird," Sherlock said. "Nervous, I guess, because I don't know precisely what's going to happen. I'm sorry," he added, glancing over at John. "I'm just trying to be honest."  
  
"That's good, about the honest part I mean. I am nervous as well so it's okay. We're going to try and see," he said.

Sherlock smiled and reached over for John's hand. They walked quietly most of the way. When they got to the club, Sherlock paused before going in. "I don't want to go backstage. Are you first? I'll sit in front for you but if you're not first, I'll sit at the bar, okay?"  
  
"I won't know what order we're in until I see who's here," John said. "Just hang out by the bar and come up when you want."

"All right," Sherlock said quietly. He went over to the bar and got a drink. He was relatively sure the bartender smirked at him, but he tried not to think about it. In fact, he just tried not to think period. He sat at the bar with his fingers around the glass, concentrating on the liquid inside of it.

John went into the back and met up with Greg and the other dancers. He was left with the doctor outfit again so he started to get dressed as they went over the set.

_I'll be third. -JW_

Sherlock pulled out his phone. He felt a little better now, at least having a better sense of what would happen. He didn't really want to watch the other dancers, but he at least knew he'd have to pay attention enough to know when to go up to the front. He finished his drink and noticed that the place was getting more crowded. He ordered another and then moved to the barseat closest to the wall, to try to disappear.

John waited int the back for his turn, listening to the music and hoping that Sherlock was okay on his own out there.

The second dancer was the one John seemed friendly with so Sherlock watched a little, just to . . . well, just to see if he could figure out something about him. He didn't see anything particularly unusual or worrying. Still, he wondered if the man secretly fancied John. How could he not? John was so handsome and sexy -- no wonder all the woman wanted him. When the dance ended, Sherlock realised he needed to get to the front. He ordered one more drink.

"You sure?" the bartender asked.

"Yeah," Sherlock said, puzzled by his response until he stood up and realised he was a bit more drunk than he thought he was. It didn't matter -- he just needed to get to the front so their plan would work and he could feel better about John's job.

John was introduced and he came out on stage, looking for Sherlock and grinning when he saw him. He started his dance, rolling his body and opening and closing his jacket to tease everyone. He looked at Sherlock and winked, almost taking the jacket off before putting it on his shoulders again. 

Sherlock watched John on the stage. He really was so sexy -- he was so confident in the way he moved his body and it reminded Sherlock of when they'd been together. John had brought back the feeling of desire into Sherlock's life, and while it was a bit scary, he wasn't thinking about that now. He was just watching John.

John moved his hands to his trousers instead and teased at the button, hopping off of the stage and moving right to Sherlock. Women around him put money into the pockets and the hem but he watched only Sherlock. "I'm having some trouble with the button," he said, smiling down at him. 

When John moved towards Sherlock, it was even more exciting than the first night because this time he knew what was happening. Whether it was the noise or the alcohol, his brain was too distracted and it became easy to pretend it was just them, like it had been at home. He leaned up and reached for John's waistband, sliding his fingertips inside and then popping open the button.

"He's good," John said. He turned his back to Sherlock and lowered the trousers down, his arse hovering over Sherlock's lap. He felt a hand putting money into the elastic of his pants but when he turned back around he only looked at Sherlock. "Thanks," he said, hopping back on stage with his trousers and tossing them aside. He went back to dancing, teasing with the coat again before finally taking it off as well. 

Sherlock saw the money falling onto the stage. It was so bizarre -- all those women throwing money just because he was touching his boyfriend? He turned his focus back to John. Then he remembered when he'd given John the twenty. He got out some money and held it up, watching as more notes flew onto the stage.

John looked at the money in Sherlock's hand and realised he felt a bit ashamed again. He tried to shake off the feeling. He licked his lips and hopped off the stage to get it, standing very close to him and dancing against his leg. "You know where it goes," he murmured. This was harder now that they were dating.

Sherlock leaned forward and put in John's waistband. "There's so much money . . . it's working," he said, smiling.

"Kiss him!" someone shouted and then the woman at the next table pushed over and put another twenty in John's waistband.

John felt like the situation was getting a bit out of hand. Kissing for money was a whole different world, a line he didn't want to cross. "Sorry ladies," he grinned. But before he walked off, since he had been paid extra for a kiss, he climbed into Sherlock's lap so when he danced he was grinding down on his groin. 

Sherlock heard the women screaming and watched John moving on his lap and it was all so much in his head. He wanted to hold onto John, to kiss him, to do the things they'd already done, but they were here and there were women all around. It was odd -- sexy but so strange.

John touched Sherlock's cheek before moving back onto the stage and removing the pants so that he was left in the little cover on his cock alone. The song came to an end with him doing body rolls to exaggerate his almost naked body. Then he picked up his bills and hurried off of the stage to change.  

Sherlock stood up when the music stopped. His head was still a bit dizzy but he made himself move away from the women and over towards the bar. He hoped John would come straight out and maybe they could leave and it could just be normal again.

John collected his things and dressed quickly. The extra show with Sherlock had meant some extra cash -- not as much as a second dance might -- but he had another situation going on that wouldn't let him get onto the stage again. He wanted to take Sherlock home now. He waved good bye and hurried out to find Sherlock. 

Sherlock watched the door and when John came out from backstage, he moved quickly over to him. He grabbed hold of his arm -- not sure how much affection he should show since others could see -- but he leaned in and said, "Take me home. I want to be with you." His whole body was hot, and his voice was husky.

John caught a whiff of alcohol on Sherlock's breath, but his mind was too focused on other things to care about that. It was a bar after all, and his body was so hot with desire he felt like he was going to burst into flames. "Yes," he said, pulling Sherlock out of the bar and to the street to get a cab. 

Sherlock followed John into the cab, crowding against him in the backseat. "You're really sexy," he whispered to John, reaching over and squeezing his thigh.

"I could barely finish the dance decently," he moaned softly, panting the mixed air between them. 

"You did," Sherlock said. "It made me . . . want you." He moved even closer to him. "Will you stay at mine tonight?"

John nodded his response. He kissed Sherlock's mouth hard.

When the cab pulled up, Sherlock gave the driver some money and rushed them into the flat. He kissed John hard against the door and then said, "Okay, wait, let's not be stupid. I need the toilet and you probably do as well." He kissed John again. "I'll go and then you come meet me in the bedroom, okay?" He smiled cheekily and pressed his hips against John before moving to the bathroom.

John almost cursed Sherlock's reason, but he was right. Not only did John need the bathroom but he needed to freshen up a bit from the dance. He hopped into Sherlock's shower and took the fastest one of his life, mostly running the water over him so he would feel better. He toweled off and put his pants back on, coming out to meet Sherlock in the bedroom. 

Sherlock had brought two bottles of water back to the bedroom and had slipped off his clothes and was now under the covers. "Hurry," he said, reaching out to pull John to the bed. "I want to keep kissing you. . ."

John climbed into the bed and moved close to Sherlock, straddling his thighs as he kissed him hungrily. 

Sherlock let his hands roam over John's back and then down to his pants. He pulled on them and said, "Take these off."

John almost made a joke about his profession but now wasn't the time. He wanted Sherlock too much. He slipped the pants off and tossed them, grinding down on Sherlock so their cocks rubbed together. "God," he moaned, kissing him hard. 

"Lie on your back," Sherlock said, pushing up and moving John to the side. He crawled over top of him, reaching down and holding their cocks together as he moved his hips. "Can I have sex with you, John?" he asked, looking down at his face. "I've got condoms . . . I just want you so much."

John nodded, his breath coming fast and heavy. "Yes . . . God Sherlock, I want you too," he breathed. His body was arching and writhing to move easily with Sherlock.   

Sherlock leaned down and kissed John's mouth softly. Then he reached over to the drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube. He poured some into his hand and then stroked John's cock before sliding his hand between John's legs, making everything slick. "This okay?" he whispered.

"It's perfect," Joan said, pulling him down for another kiss as Sherlock's hand kept moving over him.

Sherlock kept his hand moving, swiping between John's legs and over his balls. He leaned over and put on a kiss on John's stomach as he slowly pushed one slick finger inside John.

John moaned softly and tangled his fingers into Sherlock's hair, lifting his head a bit to look down at him.

Sherlock licked up and down John's cock as his finger started slowly pumping into him. "God," Sherlock moaned. "I've never met anyone as sexy as you are." He slid another finger inside, stretching John. He ached with need and shifted his own body slightly to press against the bed.

John groaned and arched off of the bed a bit, pulling at Sherlock's hair. "Sherlock please . . ." he moaned. 

Sherlock slowly pulled his fingers from John and then leaned for a condom. He rolled it on and then lined himself up, pushing inside John as he leaned over and kissed him hard on the mouth.

John's groan was lost in the kiss, his hand coming up to hold Sherlock close as he was stretched and filled. "Sherlock," he whispered, kissing him again and moving his own hips a bit. 

Sherlock began rocking on the bed, squeezing his arms around John, holding him tightly. "God, it feels good," he moaned softly.

John nodded, moaning with every movement into his body.

Sherlock closed his eyes and concentrated on the intense feelings. Then he pushed himself up on one arm and reached down to start stroking John. "I'm close already, John . . ." he mumbled.

John nodded, moving to push on Sherlock's cock and buck into his hand, his body rolling much like when he danced.

Sherlock tried to focus on stroking John but he could feel the tension building in his body and then suddenly he was coming into John, mumbling his name before dropping his head down on the pillow, panting.

John gasped and pulled Sherlock close as he came between them, kissing him sloppily as his orgasm moved through him. He lay back on the pillow panting softly, murmuring Sherlock's name.   
  
Sherlock moved over beside John, rolling onto his back and looking up at the ceiling. Then he closed his eyes and whispered, "That felt so good . . . I'm glad . . . I'm glad we did that."

John turned on his side to face Sherlock and smiled softly. "I'm glad as well. It's a good way to end the night," he said. He was going to like having Sherlock at his shows.

Sherlock turned his head and looked over at John. He smiled and then suddenly his head started to hurt a bit. He tried to ignore it and said, "It is." He moved his body a little closer, trying to hold his head still, and said, "Let's go to sleep."

John nodded, reaching over to turn off the light. He wrapped his arm around Sherlock and closed his eyes. Maybe things could work out after all. He drifted off listening to Sherlock's steady breathing.


	11. A Confession And A Decision

In the morning Sherlock woke up before John. His first thought was that they'd had sex last night. His second thought was that he felt sick. He rolled out of the bed and sat up. Yes, he definitely felt sick. He got up and went down to the bathroom and then drank three glasses of water. He took a few tablets and then brought two glasses of water back into the bedroom, putting one on the table on John's side, and then settling again in the bed.

John shifted when he heard Sherlock moving around, but he didn't want to be awake yet so he fought it and dozed off again. When Sherlock came back to the bed he couldn't help speaking, even though he kept his eyes closed. "Hello," he murmured.

"Hello," Sherlock said softly, smiling to himself. "I'm glad you're here." He reached over and touched John's arm.

John opened his eyes now and smiled at Sherlock. "I'm glad I'm here too," he said.

Sherlock sat up and finished his glass of water before lying down again. "Do you have to go somewhere right away?"

"Nope." John stretched and carefully sat up, ignoring the slight soreness as he reached for his glass of water. "Do you?"

"No," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry you're sore."

"Don't be," John smiled, taking his hand. He was happy. Everything was going well, and he was glad they weren't fighting anymore. "How's your head?"

Sherlock turned slowly. "It hurts, John. I'll be honest . . . I don't feel particularly well."

John's smile faltered a bit. "How much did you drink? You seemed okay last night."

"I . . . I probably drank too much," Sherlock said. "Not intentionally . . . I -- well, it just made it easier . .." He rolled over away from John. "I'm sorry."

"Made what easier? Sherlock, what's wrong?" he asked.

"It made it easier for me to not to think," Sherlock said. "About what was happening."

John frowned. "The dancing? I thought . . . I thought we had found something that worked," he said.

"Not the dancing…the people -- I'm not used to being around people . . ." Sherlock said quietly. "Especially not ones who want my boyfriend . . ." He rolled onto his back but still couldn't bring himself to look at John. "I'm sorry . . . it's just . . . I don't know how I'm supposed to feel or act and I'm just not comfortable . . ."

John rubbed his face hard and sighed. "So what do we do?" he asked softly. He thought they had finally figured something out, and he didn't want to lose Sherlock.

"Do you think you'd rather have a boyfriend that . . . is better at that kind of stuff?" Sherlock asked quietly. He wanted John to stay with him but he remembered what Mrs Hudson had said -- they both had to be themselves. If John wanted someone who could be what Sherlock wasn't, this wouldn't work. And if Sherlock had to change who he was to please John, that wouldn't work either.

"I would rather figure something out that makes you comfortable. I want to be with you," John said.

"I want to be with you too," Sherlock said, finally rolling over and snuggling against John.

John held Sherlock and thought about the money he was making and the reason for it. But then he thought about never seeing Sherlock again, and it made him feel worse. "I can quit my job," he mumbled.

Sherlock swallowed awkwardly and then pushed himself on the bed to sit up. "John," he said seriously. "I don't know . . . I'm not going to say something stupid like I'll pay for everything because it's your life and I know it's for school, which I couldn't pay for anyway. I'm trying not to be ridiculous." He made a little cough but realised his water glass was empty. He motioned over John to get him to pass the water Sherlock had brought in for him. He took a sip of that. "But I also . . . I mean, I worry that you'll regret quitting since I know you're doing it because of me."

"Well . . . I won't lie to you. The money is really great and I'm worried about what will happen if I don't have enough when I start school," he said. He took a deep breath and studied Sherlock for a long moment. "On the other hand, I'm even more afraid of never seeing you again. I hardly know you and I can't explain it . . . but I would be upset if we had to break up over this. I want to give us a proper chance."

Sherlock let himself lean and fall towards John, so his head rested on John's shoulder. "I don't want to not be with you, John," he said softly. "Maybe we could find another job that pays almost as well and figure out how to cut down your bills. I mean, honestly, I can still treat for dinner and things like that and --" He interrupted himself and sat up straight again. He shifted position so he was facing John. "What about if you moved out of your flat and stayed here? I mean, there's another room -- it could be yours. We could be flatmates and then you wouldn't have to pay rent each month." He was smiling widely, hoping John would see this as a possible solution. 

"I want to help with the rent," John said. "I can't just live off of you."

"Look," Sherlock said, grabbing onto John's hand. "This isn't my favourite part of my story but the truth is . . . I don't pay for this flat. My family does. The landlady is a family friend so I'm sure she doesn't charge them what she could get but . . . it's nothing to do with me. So you're not living off me at all . . ."

"Only off of your family who I don't even know?" John asked, still feeling odd about it. He wasn't used to favours like this. He'd always worked for what he needed.

"Whatever, fine, what about this? Every month you can put half the rent into a jar -- if you don't have it, put in an IOU. Then you're paying. And then once you meet my family you'll know they don't really deserve your consideration and you can keep the money . . . like a homemade savings account," Sherlock said. "What do you think?" 

"I don't know . . . I like the jar idea, I guess, but if I can't give it to them, I'll give it to you."

"No way," Sherlock said. "Because then you're essentially paying me to be your boyfriend and if you recall, that kind of business is not what we're about." He leaned in and pinched John's arm softly. "Please say you'll at least think about it."

John flushed lightly and nodded. "I'll think about it. I have to finish my schedule this week and give them notice."

Sherlock didn't want John to work this week. In fact, he didn't want John to ever leave the flat again. But those things seemed ridiculous and he'd said he wouldn't say ridiculous things. Besides, John was making a compromise for him; he could do the same. "We can talk to the landlady if you want," he said instead. "And when we get up, I'll show you the room to make sure you like it and everything."

"Will I be sharing your room?" John asked sheepishly, wondering how they would work him moving in when they were dating.

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "I hadn't thought about all that, I guess. I mean . . . I like when we sleep in the same bed but I feel like you should have your own space, you know, since you're giving up your whole flat. . ."

"Okay, well, we can switch it up," John said. "Maybe you can come upstairs sometimes and pretend you're staying at mine."

"Maybe," Sherlock said. He moved closer and then pulled John down, lying flat on top of him. "I kind of like the idea of you being here all the time." He smiled cheekily.

John smiled slyly. "I can't imagine why."

"I've never lived with anyone, I don't even like people," Sherlock said. "But I like you. I want to live with you. I hope I don't do it wrong." He wiggled a bit on top of John as he spoke.

"I've never seriously lived with anyone either so we'll try this together," he assure Sherlock, holding his hips to help him move more fluidly.

"What if I'm too messy for you?"

"We'll clean up a bit," John said. His mind was wandering off, Sherlock's movements making him imagine Sherlock dancing like John did at the club.

"What about if I annoy you -- I don't eat much, I stay up late, and I . . . well, I can be annoying. What if that happens?"

"I'm sure there will be times I annoy you too. We talk and sort it out," he said.

"What about . . . if I go into your drawers and hide some of your clothes?"

John grinned. "I'll hide your test tubes," he said.

Sherlock smiled. "Well, then I think we've sorted everything," he said. He slid to the side and pulled on John until John was on top of him. "I know we'll have to figure stuff out but . . . I think we could try, at least."

John nodded, leaning down to kiss him. "What else we could try?" he asked.

"We could try, you know, doing stuff," Sherlock said, laughing at how stupid he sounded.

"Yes, we could do a lot of things," he smiled, kissing Sherlock again.

Sherlock kissed John. "We can do everything," he said.

"I'll have to go pack my things," he said as he thought about it.

"So we can try?" Sherlock said eagerly.

John shifted, nodding as he straddled Sherlock's thighs.

"Okay," Sherlock said, grabbing onto John's arms. "I want this to work . . . but promise me, we have to be ourselves and honest, okay?" He leaned up and kissed John. "Now get off me and let's get going . . . I need more water but also need the toilet."

"I promise," he said. And then, laughing softly, he took off and raced Sherlock to the bathroom, getting in first.

Sherlock pushed on the door as John shut it. "You're cruel," he said. "I'm going to have to go in the sink now because of you so I guess that means you'll be in charge of housecleaning duties." He moved to the kitchen and drank another glass of water. He still had a headache but his stomach had settled a bit. He clicked on the kettle and turned to look at the flat. Would it be okay if John was here all the time? It felt like it would be, but Sherlock rarely made decisions based on emotions. But this one . . . it felt so big, so true -- surely there must be a reason for that? For all of this, for everything that happened since Molly's birthday?

When John came out, Sherlock rushed in. "The kettle's just gone. Pour the tea, yeah?" he said before shutting the door behind him.

John poured the tea and leaned on the counter sipping his own, waiting for Sherlock. This would be his home now. It felt odd but he was excited at the same time. He hoped it would work between them, but he had high hopes because no one had ever made him feel the way Sherlock did.

When Sherlock came out, he took his cup of tea and said, "Let's go see the room." He headed towards the stairs. "In truth, I've not really spent much time in here . . . when Mrs Hudson told me this is where the body was found, I don't know . . ." He pushed open the room's door.

John looked around the room with slightly wide eyes. "Um . . . where was that?"

"On the bed. Well, part on the bed. And a bit on the wall, some over there in the corner as well. Don't worry, though, she's cleaned the sheets," Sherlock said.

John nodded slowly. "Um, right. If I get murdered in my sleep just make sure my mum has a ride to the funeral."

"Will do," Sherlock said. "I'll be present during the autopsy as well . . . for sentimental reasons, obviously." He smiled and flopped onto the bed. "What do you think?" he asked.

The room was bigger than the one John had now, and there was more room in the wardrobe. He also couldn't beat being in the heart of London. "I like it," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Sherlock sat up and pulled on John's arm so they both fell back. "You should check the bed, I think . . ." he said, rubbing John's thigh.

"Check for body parts? Or sturdiness?" he smiled.

"For comfort," Sherlock said, turning and curling around John.

"Oh," he smiled, wrapping his arms around Sherlock. "That's nice."

"You're nice," Sherlock said. "This is nice." He stroked John's arm lightly.

"It really is. Sherlock . . . thank you," he murmured.

They lay quietly for a few minutes and then Sherlock pulled away a little and said, "Let's go get your stuff."

"Okay," John said, sitting up and stretching. "Do you feel okay to come? Do you want to rest?"

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "I'll take a bottle of water with me. I want to help."  
  
"Okay," John said, going to get dressed and leading the way out. "It's not much."

"However much, John, I don't care," Sherlock said. "I want you to feel like it's your place, too."  
  
"I know," he said, squeezing Sherlock's hand as he hailed a cab. "I'm just saying."

They rode over to John's flat. Sherlock stood stupidly as John opened the door. "What should I do?" he asked.

"I'll bring a couple suitcases and we can start filling them. I only have a couple boxes, but it should be enough to hold everything," he said. "You can start in the kitchen," he said, knowing it was the easiest room to pack.

"All right," Sherlock said, going in. He started taking things from the drawers and cupboards. John didn't have a lot but it was clear he was a bit more adept in the kitchen than Sherlock was -- he had some items Sherlock hadn't really seen before. He hoped that would be a good thing, that their differences would find a balance.

John went to his bedroom and started folding up clothes, moving as quickly as he could so they could finish this up. He still felt odd about moving into Sherlock's for free, but he tried to keep reminding himself that Sherlock didn't pay either and that everything would be fine. It was early to be moving in together but as flatmates was different than as boyfriends, even though now they would be both. That would be interesting.

Before they left, John went to speak to his landlord and then they loaded up their arms and carried the stuff down to a taxi. "We'll make this work," Sherlock said quietly. "If for any reason we can't, there's a basement flat at Baker Street that's empty and we can use that for free until we figure out what to do. We'll make it work, John, I just don't want you to feel like you're stuck if you change your mind."

John nudged him lightly as they loaded the last box and climbed into the car. "It'll be okay. I'll tell them tonight that I will be quitting at the end of the week."

Sherlock smiled and they rode back to Baker Street.


	12. Sherlock Panics

Sherlock let them into the flat and they set the stuff down. "Cup of tea first before unpacking?" he asked, moving to the kitchen.

"Yes please," John said, moving into the kitchen as well. Then he doubled back and fished out his mug from the box Sherlock had packed. "Seems only fitting," he smiled.

Sherlock leaned over and kissed John. "I forgot I could do that," he said. "We didn't kiss the whole time we were gone and I just remembered I could kiss you when I wanted to." 

John chuckled softly and nodded. "Any time you want," he said.

"Weird, isn't it?" Sherlock smiled and poured the tea. They took it into the sitting room. "Will you put your stuff in the room upstairs, do you think? I'd like us to sleep in the same bed, but I do feel like it'd be good if you had your own space. Do you care if I stay in my room or do you want to fight each other over it?"

John laughed again. "I will put my stuff upstairs and sleep in your bed," he said.

"Do you really want to? Sleep in my bed, I mean," Sherlock asked.

"Of course I do," he said. "I can't sleep upstairs knowing you're just a room away."

Sherlock smiled. "I like you," he said.

John smiled genuinely. "I like you too, Sherlock."

"Good," Sherlock said. He took a drink of tea. "I will help you unpack if you want, but I don't know where you want to put stuff. You can put whatever wherever . . . I mean it. If you need to move something of mine, will you just tell me?"

"I'll tell you if I move anything. I think I would like a desk," he said.

Sherlock glanced over. "You can take that one," he said, motioned to his desk. "I'll clean it off."

"Okay," John said, looking over at it. "That's where I usually do my writing."

"What writing?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, I keep a blog, it's nothing big."

"I didn't know that," Sherlock said. "What do you write about?"

"My studies mostly. I mentioned the job I am working now, just things that happen in my life. No one cares but it helps to get it all out when I am stressed," John said.

"Do you get stressed a lot?"

"Sometimes, when I think about school and all that."

"Will you tell me when you do?" Sherlock asked. "I'll help if I can, even if that means leaving you alone. But will you tell me? I'm not always good at knowing how other people feel . . ."

"Yeah, of course," he said. He leaned up and kissed him.

"All right," Sherlock said. "Stop being lazy -- go unpack and I'll empty the desk." He put his empty mug in the sink and moved over to the desk.

John laughed and moved for the stairs, carrying the first box and his duffel bag. The room really was nice.

Sherlock moved to his desk. He shifted everything on it in almost one fell swoop, over to the kitchen table. He tried to organise it a little. This could serve as his desk. Then he went back and started emptying the drawers but once two of them were piled on the top, he realised he had nowhere to put this stuff. Maybe he could dump into one of John's empty suitcases? He opened the third drawer. That's when he knew this wouldn't work. He couldn't work out of a suitcase. He looked over at the table. He couldn't use the table for a desk -- that's where they'd eat. He stood there stupidly for a few moments. This wouldn't work, he needed this desk. But that meant John wouldn't have a desk and that meant John would regret moving in. He glanced upstairs.

He quietly moved the things back into the drawers and then scooped everything from the table and set it back on top of the desk. His stomach hurt a little. He slowly walked upstairs.

"John," he said quietly, standing at the door. "Can I come in and talk to you?"

"Sure," John said cheerfully, half of his things in the wardrobe already.

Sherlock moved in and sat down on the bed. "There's . . . something's wrong and I don't want you to leave because of it," he said quietly.

John's smile faltered as he looked at Sherlock. Immediately he was thinking about alternative living arrangements, picking up extra hours, or begging his landlord for his old flat back. "What's wrong?" 

"I think . . . I think I need the desk," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry . . ."

John blinked at him while he waited for the rest. When none came he huffed in relief. "Sherlock, that's fine," he said. "I just need a space for the laptop, I don't mind sharing it!"

"John, there's no room to share it -- it's not going to work," Sherlock said, worried his comment was about more than just the desk. "I want this flat to have what you need but there's only one desk."

"Sherlock, really, it's just a small computer. I'm sure we can clear a small space. I don't need drawers or anything. Or we could get another small desk. It's not a big deal."

Sherlock looked at him. It seemed like he was telling the truth. "Will you come sit with me for a minute?" he asked.

John moved across the small bedroom and sat beside him on the bed. "You scared me," he admitted. "I know this is all new but we don't have to panic, okay?"

Sherlock leaned over and hugged him. "I'm sorry . . . I just want things to be perfect," he confessed.

"Well, that's going to be too much pressure but we will try to get as close as we can." John hugged him back, still feeling relived it wasn't all ruined before it started.

"Great, now I'm stressing you out," Sherlock said. "Are you going to write about what a terrible boyfriend I am?" He squeezed him tight.

"What? Of course not. I haven't mentioned you at all yet but when I do it will be good things," he promised.

"I just . . . I mean . . . let's lie down for a moment," Sherlock said. He pushed John back and then cuddled him. "I'm so glad you're here. I'm sorry I overreacted."

"It's okay," John said quietly. "You're learning. We both are."

Sherlock leaned over and kissed him. "I still like you," he said, giving John a small smile.

John kissed him back. "I still like you," he said. "But I need to finish unpacking."

"Fine," Sherlock said, mock offended, as he sat up. "I'll leave you to your important work." He smiled and stood up from the bed, heading towards the door.

John watched Sherlock go and, as soon as he was out of the room, took a deep breath that he let out slowly. They would have to work on Sherlock's perception of bad news. He finished his packing and glanced at his computer on the bed. He could bring that downstairs later. He checked the time and saw he had enough time for food before going to work. "Sherlock? Did you say you made food?" he asked as he headed back downstairs. 

"Um, no," Sherlock said. "But I made tea." He got up and poured two mugs. He thought about all the food he bought the other day, but he wasn't sure if any of that could be a meal. "I've got noodles somewhere . . . I'm capable of making spag bol. Should I make some of that?" he asked as he started to fill a pot with water.

"That sounds good, yeah," John said. "I can help if you want."

"I got it," Sherlock said. "It's sauce out of a jar, I hope you don't care." He dumped the sauce into another pot but didn't turn it on yet. He found the noodles and set them out to wait for the water to boil. "So do you feel settled in? If there's anything else you need, we can go out and get out -- maybe we should get some food you like."

"It looks like you're pretty stocked up for now, but we can go again when I'm off," he said. "Just a couple more days."

"When you're off what?" Sherlock asked. He dropped the noodles into the water and stirred before turning the sauce on low.

"Off work," he said. "Which, now that I think about, I should actually start looking for something else."

Sherlock noticed the sauce was already bubbling, spilling a little over onto the stovetop. He turned it down and wiped up the sauce. "What?" he said. "Right, a job -- well, like I said, I do know some people at the hospital -- I'm not going to pretend I can guarantee you a job but we could get Molly to ask or at least watch out for something." He grabbed some plates and then rinsed the noodles. He served the food and sat down at the table with John. "Well, it's not fancy but it should be edible at least," he said.

"We can start there," John said, smiling at Sherlock before digging in.

Sherlock took a couple bites. It didn't taste good but he couldn't tell if that was because it was bad or because he wasn't hungry. "So, what do you want to do tonight on your first night of living here?" he asked. Saying it aloud made him regret the food -- maybe he should have taken John out to dinner to celebrate?

John looked up. "I-I have work tonight, remember?"

"What work?" Sherlock said and then all of the sudden the penny dropped. "You have to go . . . there, tonight?" he said softly.

John swallowed hard. "I can't just not show up," he said. "I have to finish the week and tell them I can't come back..."

"Right, right, I knew that," Sherlock said. He took a drink of water. "I knew that, I just forgot," he said, his voice still quiet. "But I don't want you to go."

"I know," John said, nodding his head in agreement. "I know, but it's the right thing to do, you know?"

"I know," Sherlock said. "But . . ." his voice trailed off. He knew there was nothing he could do or say to change what was going to happen tonight. He could pout or yell or cry -- all things he kind of felt like doing -- but none of those things would change anything and besides John would see how childish he could be. "I know," he said again, putting another forkful of food into his mouth so he had an excuse for not saying anything else.

John's stomach squirmed guiltily, and he mixed his food around in his plate. "Sherlock, I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't know when I took the job things would be like this. I've never felt about anyone else the way I do about you."

"John," Sherlock said, reaching over and touching his hand. "I know, okay? You've not done anything wrong and I hope I'm not doing anything wrong either. I don't like that you have to go, I don't and I can't pretend I feel otherwise, but how can I be mad at you for a decision you made long before we even met? I can't be so I'm not. Please . . . let's not make it any more difficult." He let go of John's hand and ate another bite of his dinner which now seemed quite cold and tasted even less appealing.

"I know, I just hate making you upset," John admitted. He continued eating for a little while and smiled at him. "It'll just be a couple days and then it'll be over.

"John," Sherlock said. "We've only known each other a couple days . . . isn't that weird? It seems longer. I mean that in a good way, you know."

"It does seem longer," John agreed. "We've done so much already."

"And we keep learning more about each other," Sherlock said. "I like . . . everything about you. So far, at least," he added, smiling.

John smiled. "Hopefully that continues to be the case," he said.

"Do you feel the same?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," he smiled.

"Good," Sherlock said, pushing back his chair and standing up. "Go get ready for work then and I'll tidy up. And just because I cooked and cleaned tonight doesn't mean I'll be doing that every night so don't go getting used to it." He carried the plates to the sink.

John watched him for a moment before smiling softly and nodding his head. "I can cook a few things, and I have no problem with -- well, I mean, yeah. I can cook." He turned and hurried up to his room to get dressed. He couldn't say he was okay with take out when he had no money to chip in for take out. He was going to have to find more recipes.

Sherlock did the washing up and then moved over to his desk. He tidied it as well and got out his laptop to find something to work on. He was a little worried he'd spend the night obsessing about what John was doing at work, so he wanted to find something else specific to focus on.

When John came back down carrying his bag, Sherlock asked him, "What time do you think you'll be back?" He tried to keep his voice casual, but he really wanted to know to help prevent his mind running away with ridiculous scenarios.

"Around one, I'm only going to do the one dance," John told him, wishing he felt comfortable coming along.

"Don't tell me details --" Sherlock said and then stopped. "Sorry. I'm sorry for being childish." He got up and walked over to John. "I know what's going to happen and I know why you're doing it. My irrational behaviour is due to me being . . . stupidly jealous. I'm sorry." He put his arms around John to hug him.

"I'll be aiming my dance at you even if you're not there," John told him, hugging him back.

"Just . . . be careful and come back as soon as you can," Sherlock said. He put a kiss on his ear and stepped back.

John pulled him down for a proper kiss and smiled. "See you soon," he said before heading out of the door.


	13. John Goes Back To Work

John took a cab to work and went straight to the back to change. He was going on third so he took his time getting ready. When Greg was left alone with him John cleared his throat. "Um, I'm going to be quitting, I wanted you to know first."  
  
Greg looked over surprised. "Why? What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing is wrong, really. It's just…you know that guy I've been seeing?" John looked over and saw Greg nod. "He's not comfortable with it all so . . . yeah."  
  
Greg's brows furrowed. "No one we date is ever comfortable with it. But it's tour job," he said.  
  
"I know but he's . . .I don't know. I want to keep him," John said.  
  
Greg's brows went up again. "It's serious?"  
  
John shrugged. "It's only been a week but . . . I'm telling you, there's something there . . . and he's offered to let me move in so I don't have to worry about rent and--"  
  
"What?" Greg asked, moving closer now.  
  
"I know," John sighed, rubbing his face. "I know all of this could blow up in my face, but I want to see it through and this is the compromise."  
  
"Compromise? What is he doing for you? And don't say the moving in thing because if you work here you can afford to live on your own," he added.  
  
John shrugged. "It's not about that." He met Greg's gaze. "I really like him."  
  
Greg studied him for a long time and nodded. 'Well, you know there's always a spot for you here."  
  
John smiled at him. "Thanks, Greg. I am just going to finish the week and I'll let Max know tonight."

By the time they were done talking Greg was going up and John was next. He dressed as the fireman and went out, keeping his act on stage but getting almost as much as the night with Sherlock. That one was a crowd favourite. When he was finished he packed up, found Max and told him his decision, and then headed out again, hailing a cab to go home.

Sherlock's time at the flat moved slowly. He was trying so hard not to think about John -- not to think of him dancing on the stage, of the women yelling and trying to touch him, even of the other men backstage. But how could he not think of John was John's stuff was here now in the flat, in the flat that used to be only Sherlock's but was now John's too? He did do some work, though what normally would have taken an hour or two ended up taking almost all night. Around twelve, he gave up and decided to take a long bath before changing in to his pajamas and deciding he'd wait for John in bed. He made himself a cup of tea and set John's mug out next to the kettle in case he wanted one when he got home. Home. Still odd but also nice. He took his cup of tea into the bedroom and got into bed to read.

When John left he gave his old address out of habit and had to ask the driver to turn back and take him to Sherlock's. He paid and hurried inside, smiling when he saw his mug. "Sherlock? I'm back," he said, pouring his tea and already thinking about the shower.

Sherlock got up when he heard the door downstairs. He wrapped his dressing gown around him and came out. "I wasn't asleep," he said, sounding defensive until he realised he had no reason to be, even if he had been asleep. "I missed you. I'm glad you're home," he said, leaning over to give him a little kiss which almost caused John to spill his tea. "I know you like a shower after work . . . you can take one."

"I will," he said. He sipped his tea and smiled. "Did you have a good night?"

"No," Sherlock said. "I didn't. But I survived. I feel like I should ask you if you did but I'm nervous to hear the answer."

"I missed you," John said in reply, kissing him softly. "Let me shower and I'll come to bed."

"Okay," Sherlock said. "I'll head in." He double checked that the flat door was locked and then turned off the lights. He went back into the bedroom, climbed in and waited for John.

John took a quick shower and changed into his pajamas before refilling his mug with hot tea and heading into the bedroom. He climbed in and nudged Sherlock softly as he leaned on the headboard. "I'm here."

"Good," Sherlock said. "Why don't you lie down flat and relax a little?" He pulled a bit on his arm. "After all, you've been at work and I've just home . . . maybe you should lie down and I can help you relax?"

John took a big sip of his tea before putting the mug on the bedside table and shifting so he was lying down. He faced Sherlock and smiled. "Lovely idea," he said. 

"Maybe you should lie on your belly," Sherlock said. "I can give you a massage like you did to me that first morning." He lightly stroked John's arm as he spoke.

John smiled and turned slowly. "That sounds nice too," he murmured.

Sherlock moved over John and began rubbing his back. His touch was soft at first and then he worked the muscles a bit more. "Your body is . . . nice," he said even though it sounded like a dumb thing to say. But it was -- it'd been a long time since Sherlock had even touched another person, and he was glad John was the one he could touch now. 

John hummed softly as he relaxed into the bed. "That feels good," he said softly.

"You feel good," Sherlock said. "I like touching you." He knew John couldn't understand how unusual that was -- at work there were all those women who wanted nothing but to touch John. But Sherlock was different so this desire meant so much more. He kept massaging the muscles and then switched to just using his fingertips lightly up and down his back.

John moaned softly and curled his fingers in the bedding. Sherlock's hands were amazing.

"Maybe you should turn on your front now," Sherlock said. He lifted his body so his weight was on his knees, but he didn't move away from John.

John shifted onto his back and smiled up at Sherlock. "Now what?"

Sherlock rocked a little over John's hips. "I don't know . . ." he said. "Do you hear music?" he asked softly, his eyes looking around a bit like he heard something.

John furrowed his brows lightly. "I don't hear anything," he said, straining to listen.

"Then just pretend," Sherlock said. He started to move his hips more now, rolling them in a circle. He grabbed the string on his pajama bottoms and twirled it a little, smiling stupidly. Then he pushed back on his heels and then stood up on the bed over John. He let his hips go even more, like he was dancing, and then lifted his shirt over his head in one swift move. He threw it onto John's head as he continued to dance around the bed. "Hear the music now?" he asked.

John smiled up at him and bit his lip as he watched Sherlock dance. "Yeah, I hear it now," he said.

Sherlock stood over John again and leaned down, holding John's cheeks and winking. Then he got down on his knees again, one leg on each side of John's body. He grabbed John's hands and put one on each of his hips as he rolled them again. Then he lifted one to his own chest and leaned forward a little as if he was going to kiss him, but then pulled back, teasing.

John chuckled, biting his lip again. "You're quite good at this," he said.

"Shut up," Sherlock said, laughing. He untied his pajama bottoms and dipped them down on one side. "You have to imagine the music and lights and everything . . . but otherwise, I'm not doing too badly, am I?"

"I meant it when I said you're good," he smiled. He watched the dip of Sherlock's pajamas eagerly.

Sherlock dipped the other side down and shimmied his hips a little. He grabbed at John's hand again, sliding it down his chest and brushing it over the front of Sherlock's pajamas. Then he dropped it and quickly moved to the side, slipping under the covers. He took off his pajama bottoms and pulled them out from under the covers and dropped them onto John's lap. "Dance over," he said, smiling.

"What? That wasn't much of a dance," he chuckled, slowly getting out of his own pajamas.

"Well, it was only my first try," Sherlock said, reaching over and pulling John towards him. "Come get by me, please," he said.

John moved and straddled Sherlock properly. "Well, practice makes perfect," he smiled.

"We'll see about that," Sherlock said. "That may be my one and only performance, so make sure you remember it." He reached up and pulled John down towards him to kiss.

John kissed him hungrily, rolling his hips against Sherlock's.

Sherlock's hands slipped into John's hair, tipping his head to deepen the kiss. He shifted down the bed a little, trying to pull John on top of him.

John moaned into the deeper kiss and rolled harder, his cock brushing Sherlock's. He reached down to stroke both of them slowly.

Sherlock covered John's neck with kisses, running his hands up and down John's back as he let his hips rock with John's stroke.  
  
"I want you," John murmured into Sherlock's ear, rolling his hips harder.

"Please . . ." Sherlock moaned softly, matching John's movements and gripping John's sides.

"Where do you keep your supplies?" John asked breathlessly.

"In the drawer," Sherlock said, nodding towards the bedside cabinet. He was nervous because it'd been so long, but he was also eager -- it'd been so long because he hadn't met anyone he'd wanted this way and now he had. It was John. He wanted John.

John reached over and grabbed what he needed, kissing Sherlock's mouth again before making his way down slowly.

Sherlock kept a hand on John's shoulder and then arm as he lowered himself down Sherlock's body. He looked down and said, "I trust you, John."

John smiled up at him, taking Sherlock's cock into his mouth and bobbing slowly as his hands worked lower. He poured a both of lube and rubbed Sherlock's entrance before carefully pushing a finger in.

"Fuck," Sherlock exhaled. "God, John," he moaned. He rested his hand on John's head, sliding his fingers into his hair. His hips rocked softly. "God . . ."

John kept moving, everything slow and sensual. His finger moved slowly, matching his mouth. He went up to two fingers, moaning around him.

"Go slow," Sherlock mumbled even though John was and it all felt good. Sherlock let his body respond to all of John's touches and they were making everything -- even Sherlock's normally anxious brain -- feel good.

John pulled off of his cock slowly and went up to three fingers, stroking himself as he sat up to line up better. "You look so sexy," he smiled. 

Sherlock's face would have blushed if it wasn't already flushed with desire. He slipped his hand to hold himself as he waited for John's entry.

John pulled his fingers out to roll on a condom, moving closer and lining up. "You're going to feel so good," he said before pushing in slowly. 

"God," Sherlock called out, partly at the shock of a feeling he'd not had in so long and partly at the almost immediate sense of pleasure that filled him. He looked down at John and then quickly reached for him, pulling him down for a rough kiss.

John thought he had hurt Sherlock but then they were kissing and it all felt good. He started a steady pattern, slow and sure, moaning into the kiss as he returned it.

"John, yes," Sherlock moaned, slipping his hand between their bodies to stroke himself. "God, it's . . . good." His breath was ragged and he let his eyes close as his head dropped down against the pillow.

John was panting softly, pressing kisses to Sherlock's temple and cheek and jawline as he moved with him, finding his mouth again and kissing him softly. He was close, but he didn't want this to end. 

Sherlock let his body go, let it all go to John. Then he opened his eyes and looked at him and suddenly he was coming, his hips jerking and wetness spilling over his hand. He called John's name as his other hand grabbed at John's arm to hold onto him.

John moved into him a bit faster when he felt Sherlock squeezing around him. "So sexy," he moaned before he let go, curling close to Sherlock as he came.

Sherlock pulled his hand from between their bodies and wrapped his arms tightly around John. "God, John," he mumbled as he tried to catch his breath. "Just . . . god . . ."

John nodded, buried in Sherlock's neck and pressing soft kisses there. "Fantastic."

Sherlock smiled against John's head. "I'm exhausted," he whispered.

John smiled into Sherlock's neck. "Me too," he murmured.

"I'm so glad you're here," Sherlock said, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. "I mean it, John," he added as he reached over and lightly touched his face.

John moved into the light touch and smiled. "Thank you, Sherlock."

They stayed smiling until each started to drift to sleep.


	14. The Universe Makes Sense

In the morning Sherlock woke first, looking over at John who had moved slightly away but remained facing him. This man had changed Sherlock's world -- he rarely let people even slightly close, and here was someone who had changed absolutely everything in just a matter of days. He touched his face again and whispered, "Good morning."  
  
John shifted and took a deep breath. "Good morning," he smiled softly. "I live here," he whispered.

"So do I," Sherlock said, grinning widely. "I'll go make us some tea. Do you have a lot to do today?"

"Just a run to the bank," he said, turning onto his back and stretching. "And . . . well, my last night at work. But maybe we can go talk to your friend at the hospital?"

Sherlock got up and slipped his pajama bottoms on. "Yeah," he said. "I'll text her and see what advice she has." He leaned over and gave John a quick kiss and headed out to make tea.

"Thank you," he said as Sherlock walked out. He put his pajama pants on and went to the bathroom before going to the kitchen.

Sherlock sent a text to Molly and after they had showered and got dressed, they met her at a cafe for lunch to discuss work possibilities for John.

John sipped on his tea while they waited for Sherlock's friend to arrive. He hoped she wouldn't be as surprised as before.

Molly walked in, smiling already, and joined them.

"I got that pastry you like," Sherlock said, pouring her a cup of tea. "The kind with the red stuff inside."  
  
"Thanks, Sherlock," Molly said. She turned to John. "Hello again," she added.

John smiled. "Hello," he said. "How are you?"

"Good," she said.

"Good, we're good as well," Sherlock said. "Look, John's going to medical school soon and we were wondering if you knew of any jobs that might be around for him. He's really smart and very dedicated and wants to learn and if you have any ideas or anything really, though ideally something that paid, well . . . sorry," he glanced over at John apologetically. "I didn't mean to talk for you." He reached over and touched John's hand.

Molly looked at the their hands for a moment before listing jobs that John could do around the hospital, like making schedules for surgeons or setting up appointments or filing or billing. "But . . I mean, none of those will pay like the dancing," she admitted.

Sherlock glanced at Molly and then John. "Well, is it worth taking a look?" he asked.

John nodded. "Yes, anything will help," he said.

Sherlock smiled.

"You're welcome to come in when I'm working," Molly said helpfully. "I mean, you could help or hang out at least -- get your face seen, if you know what I mean."  
  
"Yeah, okay," John said. "Maybe I can have your number and we can set something up? Is there . . . I mean, is there an actual paying job available?" he asked, knowing that hanging out wasn't going to pay the bills.

"Well, not at the moment, but like I said, I could maybe introduce you to some doctors or something," Molly said, leaning over towards John. 

"I have Molly's number," Sherlock said awkwardly. There was something about the way Molly looked at John or was it the way John looked at Molly? Sherlock remembered Molly watching John that first night -- she was shrieking like all the rest of them. In fact, it seemed weird that Molly had seen John practically naked. It all seemed weird all of a sudden. Then he realised he'd said something awkward and let it hang there so he added, "John's my boyfriend now." It wasn't until the words were out of his mouth that he knew that that comment did not really help the awkwardness.

John had paused getting his phone out and watched Sherlock as he seemed to be having an internal struggle. Molly didn't look surprised. However, when Sherlock announced John was his boyfriend, her face changed.

"You're dating? Is that why you're not dancing anymore?" Molly asked.

John shrugged but at the same time smiled at Sherlock and held his hand. "Yeah. He's my boyfriend now." He slid his phone out to Molly and squeezed Sherlock's hand.

"So it's just me, yeah?" Sherlock said to Molly and then immediately wished he hadn't. This time his follow up was quicker. "Thanks for showing us around the other day and for your help with the job stuff," he added, trying to make his voice sound kind. Because Molly deserved kindness, he knew that.

John squeezed his hand again. He didn't want to talk about it here, in front of Molly. John took his phone back and smiled. "Thank you. I appreciate your help."

Sherlock turned the conversation to Molly and even tried hard to pay attention when she started talking about Josie. He wasn't sure if John was going to go with her today or not.

After they finished their tea they got up to go. John thanked Molly again and headed out with Sherlock. When they were a few blocks away John nudged him lightly. "Of course, it's just you," he said.

"What?" Sherlock said, trying to pretend he had no idea what John was talking about. He changed the subject instead. "So maybe something will work out at the hospital, eh? I'd feel better if it did."

John smiled and leaned up to kiss his cheek, pretending that he believed him. "Yeah, me too," he answered.

Sherlock grabbed John's hand and held it as they walked. "I might have a bath when we get home," he said. "I'm a bit . . . sore, if I'm honest." He looked at John with a cheeky grin.

John bit his lip and grinned. "We'll just have to switch next time," he said.

"Maybe," Sherlock said. "I liked it that way." He squeezed John's hand. "We need to stop talking about it now actually . . . " He glanced over. "You drive me a bit crazy, you know?"

"What?" John asked, unsure if that was a good thing or not.

"But we can't do it all the time," Sherlock said. "I mean, we have to . . . you know, live and stuff."

John laughed now. "I know that. Sherlock. I just meant next time, whenever it came up," he grinned.

"Is that a sex joke?" Sherlock said, raising his eyebrows.

John laughed again. "You're the one driving me crazy!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, John Watson," Sherlock said as he unlocked the front door. "I think you need to go upstairs to your room and have a little think about what you've done."  
  
"Oh, I'm in trouble now?" John asked, still chuckling. "You're going to send me up there all alone after taunting me with all this talk about sex?"

Sherlock laughed. "I'm just trying to have a normal conversation," he said as he moved to the kitchen to put the kettle on. "If you can't handle that, I'll have normal conversations by myself in future."

John smiled, standing in the door of the kitchen instead of going up to his room. "Well, I don't think you were," he countered.

"That's what normal conversations with me are like, John," Sherlock said. "I've been on my best behaviour since we met . . ." he paused thinking of how he behaved the first time John came to the flat. "Well, mostly my best. Now you have to see me, warts and all."

John crossed his arms. "Your worst is making teaser sex jokes?" he teased. Then he smiled and said, "I know things will be different with me living here now. We're going to learn a lot about each other very quickly and hopefully . . .hopefully it's all okay."

Sherlock looked over at John. "You're right -- this isn't my worst," he said. "I _can_ be a lot worse . . . I'll try to keep it to myself . . . I hope we'll be okay."

John went over to him and kissed his cheek. "I know we will." He moved over to the sofa and made himself comfortable.

Sherlock wished he felt as confident, but he did know he really wanted this to be okay. He really felt that John meant something to his life -- that's what had sent Sherlock back to the club. He realised now what that meaning was: John made him _feel_ things that no one ever had. Sherlock had never wanted to feel and now he did.

He felt things when they kissed or when they held hands or when John called the flat home. Those feelings were good. But Sherlock knew that opening up this part of himself meant sometimes feeling bad -- like when he felt panicked with jealousy at lunch -- he hadn't liked that at all. But he knew good and bad go hand in hand, and right now he'd rather accept dealing with some unpleasant feelings as long as it meant he'd get the good ones, too.

He looked over at John. He knew what it all meant now. John meant everything.


End file.
